


In the Locker Room

by OneLastThought



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Fedal - Freeform, I do not know how to tag, Love Confessions, M/M, Tags to be added as I go, this is basically it, unbeta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-07-14 23:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 61,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16051100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneLastThought/pseuds/OneLastThought
Summary: Rafa and Roger were truly the most infamous rivals... who had gone and fallen in love. As the years progress, they have to find the pinpoint equilibrium between their love and their lives in the tennis world around them. When secrets that were never meant to be seen leak out, how will they face the worlds they knew?





	1. The Greatest Match

**Author's Note:**

> So. This is my first Fedal fic. It’s also my first fic that I’ve published on this site. I hope it’s at least not terribly dull or “out there”. If you’ve actually decided to read this story, thank you! It means a lot. This is a smaller fandom, and I thought I would contribute. No matter how small, a new story is always appreciated. If you’re one of the fedal fanfiction authors out there, I want to say thank you. This fic is dedicated to you guys. Oh yeah, comments and kudos are appreciated! Also I do not know how to correctly format a story on this site? I apologize for the large paragraphs. If anyone can give me some pointers on that it’d be greatly aprediated! Notes at the end of the chapter too.

The reporters’ cameras flashed with their sense of urgency. The blinding light captured the historical moment to be pictured in every magazine and newspaper. It was the 2008 Wimbledon Men's Finals, and Rafael Nadal has beaten defending champion Roger Federer in an epic five set battle. Roger is holding the anticlimactic, disappointing second place trophy, a decorated plate adorned with last minute shame from generations before.  
Rafa holds the beautiful, gleaming grand slam cup in all its glory. Its legacy washed by tears of victors before, including Roger. Rafa is crying too. He is surprised. Yes, surprised. And a sense of overwhelming happiness obviously washes over his features. He never expected to be in this position. Roger never expected this either. But something was off about this battle. Something was very off.  
Roger should feel bitter. He should feel unadulterated shame directed towards himself and unadulterated loathing for the younger man who pulled through for the crowds hailing from Spain. He should be frowning. At least, in his head. But Roger didn’t feel any of this. He felt almost… proud? He felt proud. He felt proud and he felt a smile spread upon his face. But this was Rafael Nadal. This was his most serious and infamous rival. He should feel… something apart from this contentedness in the present candid moment.  
When he shook hands with Rafa at the net, when they leaned in for the hug, when Roger could see the pure joy radiating off of the Spaniard, any pretty much nonexistent bitterness was swept aside. There was a warm, sweaty palm on the small of his back, and another on his shoulder. Roger leaned in, exhausted. There was a permanently fixed smile on Rafa’s face. Roger… Roger had given it his all. And he still lost. Tennis was cruel like that. But Rafa played untouchable tennis. At the end of the day, all Roger could do was stand in awe.  
Rafa deserved this… didn’t he? And that’s what Roger kept telling himself at the trophy ceremony, during the press conference; on the way to the locker room. Rafa deserves this Rafa deserves this Rafa deserves this… As if that was really the only reason keeping him from bursting into a fiery ball of hatred. Roger wasn’t naive. He’s seen those pictures of him and Rafa together. Any picture, really. They both have. Roger, in blatant truth, was actually quite fond of Rafa. It was almost embarrassing. How could two fierce rivals actually become anymore than that?  
It wasn’t the reality of the world they were living in. Why did Roger have to be like this? This should be just like any other rivalry. McEnroe and Borg. Navratilova and Evert. Agassi and Sampras. Why did theirs have to be different? What even was their endless battle for the top, if not a rivalry? What was their rivalry without hatred? There is a fine, fine line between sportsmanship and friendship. Roger knew that he and Rafa had definitely crossed that line. But why?

Back in the locker room, there is a moment of silence. Normally, the room would be bustling with the frequent to and fro of different players at different times on their mostly futile journeys to victory if you look at it pessimistically. After a while, the lackluster bow out and the best remain. Now, everyone has gone home. Roger and Rafa were the only two left. It had been the finals, after all. This also provided the awkward encounter of conqueror and conquered. Especially after you had just been beaten by the only other person in the room in a very important, some would argue the most important, match of their year. Maybe even in their fleeting careers.  
But Roger had more than one reason to feel the tension in the room. These… feelings. Roger looked up to see how Rafa was taking the win. Rafa had his back to him. He was sitting on a wooden bench on the other side of the room. He was carefully, painstakingly removing his shoes as if they might break at rough impact. As if they were made of glass. Roger couldn’t see his face, but he could only imagine the sheer joy radiating off of it. Roger couldn’t help but smile at that.  
But then he frowned again. Sure, he was a good sport. But smiling? At a moment like this? But then Roger thought again of that perfect, electric smile beneath sparkling eyes framed by those slight brown curls and accented with that golden tan. How could he not feel happy for him? He had a nice smile. An infectious smile. But… why was Roger even thinking about Rafa’s smile? What was wrong with him?  
Rafa looked back at Roger in surprise with aforementioned sparkling eyes. Roger then realized he’d been staring and quickly averted his own. Desperate to strike up some sort of conversation to dull the tension, he started.  
“Good… good job today Rafa. You played well.” And that was definitely the best he could come up with. Rafa smiled even a little bit more if possible.  
“Thank you,” he said warmly. “I try my best, no? You too. You played very good today too.” It was very sincere and Roger knew that he had meant it. Thick accent and all. “Thanks.” It was all Roger could get out before they were reduced to silence again.

Roger found that his eyes were still locked with Rafa’s and he didn’t quite want to pull away. He had to say something… anything to-  
“I’m sorry. Today. Sorry you lose the match. I know this mean a lot to you,” Rafa broke the silence. He averted his eyes. That spark vanishing. He seemed almost nervous now. Roger furrowed his brow. Why was he apologizing?  
“No… no Rafa it’s alright. You played extremely well today. Better than me. You deserved to win.” He had to say something to put some light back into the younger man’s eyes. Rafa’s eyes slightly flickered downward at the word ‘deserved’. He looked back up though, and Roger continued softly.  
“It’s just that… it’s always hard to lose against you.” He smiled sadly. The regret in his tone was imminent, he didn’t like it being this way. It just was. There was always something special about Rafa, wasn’t there? Rafa leaned in closer to Roger’s quiet voice.  
“Is always hard… winning against you too.” Rafa let out a sigh. Roger could tell he wasn’t too happy about this fact. The guilt of the circumstances bubbled in Roger’s stomach.  
“I don’t feel as bad about losing as I should,” He let out in a whisper, as if it were the most embarrassing secret. Which in truth it was. What kind of tennis player was he anyway? Has his competitive spirit vanished in the presence of Rafael Nadal? Rafa shook his head slowly and leaned in even further and even softer he whispered:  
“I don’t feel too good about winning as I should.” Rafa lowered his eyes again and sharply inhaled. There was self disappointment in his tones. It is an obvious fact that in any sport you would want to beat your opponent… what was their problem? Roger shook his head softly and made eye contact once more with Rafa. There was desperate conflict written on his face. “What’s... wrong... with us?” The Spaniard whispered quietly, although the intensity somewhat lost in the soft look in his eyes. Roger’s breath was ragged, and it distinctly caught in his throat at the sight of Rafa looking up at him with those big brown eyes. The lighting was just so… Roger cleared his throat desperately to cover that up. What was wrong with him?  
“I-I don’t know…” was all Roger could seem to get out without his throat closing up. Then they were leaning in. Both of them. Rafa and Roger were leaning in towards each other unconsciously and Roger had no idea why he wasn’t doing anything to stop this. He should do something! Rafa’s eyes closed and Roger’s did simultaneously. He should, he should-  
And then they were kissing.


	2. The Will of Worlds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is up! More calm before the storm in this one... let me know what you think! I have a couple more chapters written, so updates will be frequent.

The soft and firm. The burn and chill. Roger evaporated and melted into the strong embrace of Rafael Nadal as they held each other, tangled, in a knot of undeniable emotion and sheer pleasure. They were kissing, my god. Then Roger realized they were kissing. Or maybe Rafa did. Or maybe it was both of them because in a split second they jerked apart, ragged breaths and wild looks. They hadn’t even been kissing for that long yet somehow, they were both breathless. They stared at each other. Almost accusingly. There were a million thoughts racing through Roger’s mind. He couldn’t distinguish a thing in his head. Everything was happening too fast. But he could comprehend one thing. This… what they had just done… it was bad. Very very very bad. How dare Rafa do this? How dare he do this? He wasn’t… gay. Was he? No, he wasn’t. He definitely wasn’t. He had a girlfriend for Christ’s sake. Well, a kind of girlfriend. Oh god maybe he was gay. Maybe he did like Rafa. Maybe he did like the kiss. Maybe he didn’t want to take back what had just happened at all. Maybe… maybe he should get out of here before someone sees them. Maybe he should leave before Rafa says something. Before the truths are spilled before them.  
“Roger…” too late. He turned to face Rafa slowly, with guilt and dread and confusion on his face. He could see that Rafa wasn’t faring any better. He looked stricken, shocked, panicked, but also… there was something in his eyes. A sort of untapped excitement. A raw energy in the glint of his eye. Rafa liked it too. “Roger,” Rafa started again without looking any more sure about was he wanted to say. “We… I-I… you… I… d-don’t. I… c-can’t. Roger!” Rafa’s face was beginning to drain of its color. The grim realizations of their actions had probably just dawned on him. He looked highly panicked now. It would seem his already loose grip on the English language had slipped and he was without much vocabulary. At a time like this, Roger couldn’t understand more. 

He shook his head. “It’s… it’s okay Rafa. We’ll be… okay. I just, I’m sorry. About… that… Look, let’s just, let’s forget okay? That… that never happened alright? No harm, no harm was done. We could just… I could just… I could go. Now.” Roger’s face was beet red as he made a beeline for the door. He couldn’t turn back to look at Rafa’s face. Not now.  
“Wait!” The young Spaniard called out in a voice ridden with desperation. Roger closed his eyes and turned around. He really should be leaving. He didn’t want to have to deal with this… mistake. He opened his eyes again, cautiously, but the look on Rafa’s face was enough to make him both want to shut his eyes tight again and forget, and never stop looking. Rafa truly was breathtaking. Even now, with tears forming in his eyes and his face flushed. They made eye contact briefly before Rafa turned away. “I… d-don’t want you to leave.” It came out in a whisper of heavily accented English. Rafa stared back up at Roger with some flickering form of artificial courage. In that split second, Roger saw the young kid from Mallorca who had just celebrated his 20th birthday by beating him in Miami and shocking everyone. This boy now, he looked frail and… scared. But then something changed. Rafa looked up at Roger and almost dared him to break eye contact. There was determination in his eyes now. A single tear made its way down his cheek, but no more. “I want you to stay.” The uncertainty in his voice, gone. Rafa had found some sort of agreement in his mind, it seemed. Roger had found none.  
“You… what? What are you saying… you don’t know. We can’t… this… they will know Rafa. They always know.” Rafa lowered his head once more. The two both knew who “they” was. 

The press. The news reporters and photographers who had nothing better to do than stick their unwanted noses where they believed there to be a story. This, what Rafa and Roger just did, would definitely be a story. But a terrifying story that will change everything forever. No one can know. Especially not them. Rafa looked at him and said softly:  
“They do not have to know. We can do, without them to know. I know this.” There was that determination again. And Roger had to admit it was starting to wear off on him. This moment… the electricity of this moment… it was enough to make Roger believe. He certainly wanted to believe. Maybe this was moving too fast, maybe he hadn’t quite wrapped his head around this yet, maybe he was just in shock and this feeling would fade. Roger shook his head internally. No. He wouldn’t let these thoughts of doubt cloud his mind. Reality could wait until another day. The world’s two best tennis players went and fell in love and there was nothing he could do about it except… kiss Rafa again. And he did. 

It was a few wonderful moments before it was Rafa who pulled away. This time he had the doubt and confusion written on his features. But also, a happiness. A joyful, ecstatic glint was returned to his eyes. He gave a small, tentative smile.  
“Is… this is… okay? Now is okay? We can… do?” His voice was as soft as his smile and Roger could hear the glistening hope.  
“Yes. Yes Rafa, we can. I promise to you. It… it may not be easy. But we will make this work. And nobody needs to know.” At that, Roger smiled back. Then his mind strayed to darker places. Mirka. What about Mirka? He didn’t love her. She was more of a glorified friend. But… but she didn’t really know that. She didn’t… nobody did. He couldn’t just leave her. Then she would know. Then everyone would know. Rafa seemed to have had the same thought.  
“But.. but Roger, Mirka. Y-You love Mirka. You no leave Mirka, I know this. I shouldn’t… shouldn’t have done this. Is bad. Is thought badly. You no leave your girlfriend, Roger. You better than this. Is wrong.” Roger could hear the guilt seeping into Rafa’s voice. Guilt and regret. Maybe this was wrong, but it was also somehow so right. Roger shook his head.  
“Rafa, I don’t… I don’t love Mirka. I never did. I don’t think I ever will. It is all a show. She… she doesn’t know this. She thinks I love her. And… and I cannot find the courage to tell her otherwise. It’s terrible, I know. But Rafa, please, I want to be with you. She doesn’t have to know.” Rafa looked at him thoughtfully.  
“You… you okay with this? She not know? Is fine? ‘Cause… because I want to be with you. I just not know Mirka. I not sure. Is wrong.” Rafa’s voice was wavering. There were too many shocking revelations for one day. But Rafa had to understand. Roger had to make him understand.  
“I want to be with you too. I really do. I won’t let anything get in the way. I want us to be together. And… and if that’s what you want too, we can find a way to make it work. I promise.” Rafa smiled up at Roger warmly and Roger smiled back. Together, they shared one more kiss. One more kiss before they faced reality. The everyday world. Where everyone knew them as ‘Federer and Nadal, the fiercest tennis rivals who had just competed in a Wimbledon final that was arguably the best in the history of the sport.’ It was all tennis. But soon, soon would come personal matters. Personal questions. Press, press, press. But for now, two steadfast men in love were ready to take on anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, Roger is playing doubles with Novak today and I’m not sure how I feel about it. The absence of fedal this year is kinda depressing. On the upside though, Roger is happy. I guess that’s what matters most, right? I mean, I’d kill for another fedal final! Hopefully fanfics can tide us over until the next one. Thanks for reading! Remember, kudos and comments are totally appreciated!


	3. The Luckiest Invasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new character is introduced today! Sergiy Stakhovsky. Heard of him? Probably not, but he plays a big part in this story. He’s a real player on the tour and he’s said some pretty ignorant things. I thought he’d be the perfect “villain” for this story. Also: Nole and Roger lost their doubles and if it was Rafa with Roger, they would’ve won... just saying. Alright, enjoy! Comments, kudos, it’s all appreciated.

Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer thought they were alone. They thought their secret was, well, a secret. They thought that their revelating conversation was heard by them and them alone. Well, they were wrong. 

A cautious Sergiy Stakhovsky walks out in disbelief from behind a wall of lockers, phone in hand. There was a blank expression on his face. He sighs in relief at the empty room before him. He slowly raises his phone, turns it on, and stares, wide eyed, at the video he just took of Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer, infamous rivals, kissing. Kissing. Federer and Nadal. Kissing. How did this happen?

Sergiy had gotten out of Wimbledon in round one. It was an embarrassment. He had qualified, yes. But a first round loss? That was wasted opportunity. Stupid David Ferrer. Anyways, Sergiy had left. He had flown back to Ukraine to practice for the North American Hardcourt season. The first week he relaxed. He routinely check up on Wimbledon, to see who survived. There was jealousy, sure, but curiosity too. In the second week, Sergiy had to start practice. But things weren’t going so well for him. Sergiy’s career was unsuccessful to say the least. If this kept up, he’d have to retire. And he couldn’t afford that. Sergiy can’t afford his lackluster level of play. But… he’s not magically gifted. He’s not incredibly talented. He doesn’t have a passionate drive and he’s not adored by millions. He’s not like Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer. They… they have everything. It really wasn’t fair. There had to be… something wrong with them. Something. Like a secret. A flaw. A fact hid away from prying eyes. Either of them could have one, really. The world just needs to find this and exploit it. Anything to gain an advantage for the rest of the ATP tour. But no, everyone loves them. Nobody really wants to find an imperfection. Nobody wants to find a loophole in their seemingly flawless systems. I mean, there were drug tests. And if one of them was caught doping, hell that’d be great. Sergiy wouldn’t miss them. But they seemed clean. Annoyingly so. There had to be something else. So that is why Sergiy made the decision to sneak back into Wimbledon. It was his only chance for a successful career. And besides, he’d be doing everyone else a favor. Come on, who’d want these two men standing in their way of a grand slam anyway? So Sergiy was a hero. Or at least, he would be one if he actually found something to use against them. So really, this escapade wasn’t for him. It was for all the- no, no, yeah it’s really just for him. Think of the satisfaction that would come with a successful dig… this was definitely all for him. Other players be damned. This was his comeback time. Federer and Nadal had better watch out.

Sergiy knew he’d have to act fast. If either of them got out early, they’d go home straightaway and his plan would be a bust. I mean he’d love it if they lost in normal circumstances, but when Nadal beat Schüttler and booked a spot in the Wimbledon final against Federer who had beaten Safin, he couldn’t help but grin. Evilly. Now was the time. So he booked a flight for London and went on his way. Hours later, he arrived to gray, overcast skies. It was Sunday, July 6. The 2008 Wimbledon men’s final. Quietly, as not to attract attention to himself, Sergiy used his player’s ID to get past security. Along with a little harmless white lie. He totally forgot his bag here. He needs it desperately for practice. Somehow they let him go through. What kind of security was this? Idiots. Sergiy shook his head as he made his way to the locker room. The game was nearly over. He surveyed a monitor for the scores. It had gone into five sets. The fifth was going overtime, but Nadal had just gotten the break so Sergiy had a feeling he knew who was going to come out victorious in the end. He rolled his eyes. If only they could both lose. But today, he would find a way that they could. 

Just at that moment, Sergiy heard the deafening roar of Centre Court. The match had come to a close. It was time. Sergiy quietly opened the door to the locker room. It was dead silent in there. Completely empty. Perfect. He walked in quickly past the many rows of identical lockers until he made his way to the back, behind a protective wall of them. Now all he could do was wait. For what, exactly, he didn’t know. But he would wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be up tomorrow! Let me know what you think. I promise you that by the end of this story you’ll hate Stakhovsky as much as I do.


	4. Film as my Witness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter’s up! More Stakhovsky in this one. As someone in the comments pointed out, the phones back then were pretty limited in capabilities. Just use your imaginations to pretend that Stakhovsky’s phone has a video camera I guess? Also I worked more on spacing in this one, so hopefully it’s easier to read!

It took an hour, thanks to the miscalculations of an obvious trophy ceremony, but a dozing Sergiy raised his head in alert at the sound of a door opening on the other side of his locker wall. Quickly, he got up and pressed his back against it, trying to keep his heavy breathing as discreet as possible. It had just occurred to him what he was trying to do. 

He snuck into Wimbledon. He was trying to find dirt on the two most successful players of their era. They were right here on the other side of these lockers. What was Sergiy doing? It was crazy, absolutely crazy. And stupid. But, it was too late to back out now. Ever so cautiously, Sergiy peaked his head out hesitantly from behind the lockers. 

They were there, sitting on two opposite benches, facing away from each other, neither paying attention to the Ukrainian who was now intently watching them with expectant patience. Then they turned to each other and started a very confusing conversation. 

Was it Nadal’s weak grasp on the English language? Or was it the fact the two rivals were actually holding a sickeningly and surprisingly sweet exchange considering the battle that had just fought?

They were talking about… winning. Yes that’s it. And… losing. And… boring, sappy nothings. Sergiy shook his head. How would he profit from this? Could they at least stare at each other menacingly, if not try to claw the other’s eyes out?

Sergiy couldn’t really work with this situation. He was pretty much resigned to leaving, when he noticed the spacing between the two players. Actually, more like the lack of it.

It happened in slow motion and at record breaking speeds. The world actually seemed to slow down and speed up around him. Time warped and mangled possibility so that the world was getting smaller and smaller until only the two tennis players existed. Their eyes closed, their arms embraced, their stance laughed in the face of reality.

Sergiy’s eyes widened as Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer closed off the distance between them. The grand result of this reality bending spectacle was a kiss. A… kiss. A… kiss! A kiss?! What… what? Sergiy’s eyes widened even more. He shook his head. He had to have been dreaming. Was this a dream? Oh god they were kissing… this was… big! This was huge! He, he had to get this on film! 

Awkwardly, Sergiy fumbled to get his phone out of his pocket as quickly as possible. His hands were shaking as he unlocked it and pointed its camera towards the two kissing tennis players. This happened in a matter of three seconds. The camera had been recording for another three seconds before Nadal and Federer split up in a breathless panic. 

Sergiy didn’t dare move. His hands held his phone in a death grip. This was actually happening. They were actually kissing. And now they were… upset about that? Okay so then this wasn’t a normal thing? What even was this thing? Sergiy could barely think… could barely anything. He just gripped his phone as if his life depended on it. 

This footage would save him. It would save his career. This would destroy their careers. Once he turned in this video to some sort of news source it was game over for them. How could they be this stupid to actually kiss each other? Idiots. Gay? Sergiy did not see that coming. Ew. And to think he had thought they were good people. Sad. But he didn’t need to worry about this now, what he had to worry about was the scene unfurling before his, and his phone’s, eyes. 

Now they were fighting. Yeah, fighting. About their... kiss? And Sergiy was getting this all on film… he didn’t dare breathe. If they found him, he’d be done. But… would he? This was blackmail. Very powerful blackmail at that. Sergiy shook his head again in disbelief. He was lucky, very lucky, to be here right now. The whole Wimbledon thing was a good call on his part. Sergiy watched the conversation before him with shock and awe.

They balked at each other. They hurled their confusions and accusations. This was not the Nadal and Federer Sergiy saw on the tour. This was Rafael and Roger. Two gay sensitive wimps who hid their true abominable selves from the rest of the world. Sergiy knew why. They’d never be accepted. Rightfully not. Why don’t they just get wives instead? Much easier. 

But Sergiy had time to worry about this later. Right now, they were kissing. Again. Then they got up, smiled at each other, and headed out of the front door hand in hand. Sergiy noticed they reluctantly let go before leaving the locker room. They hadn’t noticed Sergiy behind them at all. And now he was alone. Sergiy let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

“Oh my god…” he exclaimed aloud. 

Sergiy shook his head for the umpteenth time before breaking into a manic laugh. This… this was amazing! This was incredible! This would put an end to their era! Nadal and Federer are over! Sergiy shut off his phone. Then he turned it back on in impatience. He had to watch this again…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a villain in the works... who knows what he’ll do with this footage and knowledge? Well, I do obviously but that’s besides the point. Hopefully the spacing was better in this one. The next chapter will be up tomorrow!


	5. Uncharted Success

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Stakhovsky in this one... but I promise fedal comes into play as well! I’m still working on my spacing, but hopefully this is a little better. I’m making progress at least. The Laver Cup is finally over... let’s hope for some fedal next year! It’s the only way they’re going to win their doubles matches...

Sergiy Stakhovsky waited a good ten minutes before leaving the locker room, just to make sure the coast was clear. As he was exiting, he noticed the same guards posted at the entrance. They turned to him in recognition. 

“Mr. Stakhovsky… have you not found your bag?” It took Sergiy a second before he remembered his little lie from earlier. Oh. 

“Um, no I’m afraid not actually. I… I just realized I had really just left it at home this whole time but, but it’s okay because I got here in time to watch the rest of the match! It was… a great, great match don’t you think?” 

The smile on Sergiy’s face was as fake as Roger Federer’s girlfriend. The guards didn’t seem to catch that though, and smiled back. 

“It was an incredible match indeed… have a good day sir, sorry you had to come all this way for nothing!” The guards waved in his direction as he turned and left. Sergiy left, stifling a laugh. 

Oh if only they knew!

————————————

Sergiy could do… anything with this footage. Like, like… well, releasing it. Or blackmail… Nadal and Federer had considerable sums of money. They would pay any grand amount to save their careers.

But then Sergiy paused. Why should he help them save their careers? This whole gay thing was their fault. They’re the ones that asked for terminated careers. Why not deliver? 

They had their grand slams, they had their top ten rankings, they had the satisfaction of knowing they had stopped all these other players from climbing to the top. No, Sergiy could do without the money now. He wanted them gone. Forever. 

This video was his key to a successful career. But… now? Sure he was alarmingly behind in the rankings (132 in the world at the moment to be exact), but was it enough of a motive? Was the publicity worth it?

He was already looked down upon enough. He didn’t have any real friends among these tennis players. Now, they would really hate him for ousting two beloved players. 

Sergiy just couldn’t be the one behind an exposing report. He needed the money, sure. But what what he really needed was a player or two to be the faces of the accusation. To tell the world. To be believed and respected and understood. But… who?

He needed answers he didn’t have right now. So Sergiy started a waiting game. And he could tell it would be a long one. 

Sergiy was inactive in the face of the press. He wasn’t going to release this video. He just couldn’t. So he just waited for an answer. And waited. And waited. And through the days and weeks and months, he couldn’t get that video out of his head. He couldn’t forget. 

And now, he saw all they did. All he saw was what they did. He saw when they were sneaking off. He saw when they shared those oh so knowing glances. Seriously, how could he be the only one who knew? How could he have been so oblivious before? 

No gay players on the men’s side… yeah right. He was definitely wrong on that one. Either the rest of the world were idiots, or Federer and Nadal were just really good at sneaking around. They would always find time away from the press. They would always run off together. They would always go into empty office rooms to kiss.

And Sergiy saw it all, and he grew more and more angry with this mess.

He should just release this video already, and put an end to it. But the ever oblivious world would never listen to him. They would laugh and turn heads. His graciously ever neutral fellow players will completely ignore his existence. 

And what if they did believe him? What then? Well, things would be over for Federer and Nadal. But they’d also be over for him, too. This whole “The two greatest tennis players of all time have just been humiliated in front of the world” thing would be unappreciated by… literally everybody. 

Their sport would be plagued by the scandal. He would be plagued by the scandal. He could never play a normal match again. Not after what he was considering to pull. Sergiy loved tennis, why else would he be on the tour? But, it would just never be the same. 

If he had to go too, what was the point? He didn’t care who else did or didn’t win a grand slam. Sure, he hated Federer and Nadal, but there was nothing he could do within his small influence and nonexistent power domain. This situation was hopeless. It was downright infuriating. What the hell was he supposed to do? He should.. he should just release them! He should just blackmail those two! He should… he should wait. 

In the end, it was the safest decision. He had already risked so much. He couldn’t afford another slip up. Sergiy’s day would come. It had to. Just… not today.

So he forced himself to stand idly by. It was painful to watch Federer and Nadal do their… togetherness. It was painful to have nothing be done about it. And Sergiy was disgusted. What did they exactly think they were doing? How could they just be… homosexuals? That… that’s wrong. And then sneaking around made it even worse.

Now, Sergiy knew their little secret. They couldn’t hide from him. And pretty soon, they couldn’t hide from the world. But pretty soon would have to come later. 

So Sergiy’s waiting game continued. And it continued on for two years filled with secret glances and frustratingly obvious photographs. All Sergiy could do was look on, and wonder when he’d strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of comments have been predicting blackmail. I kinda took a different approach. Hopefully it makes sense. I have a lot planned, and for this story to go the right way, Stakhovsky has to wait. I hope I was able to make it clear why in the story! Let me know what you thought in the comments below! Feedback is much much much appreciated!


	6. Cincinnati Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New characters! Well, old characters really. We see two familiar faces in this update. I bet you can guess who, by looking at the tags above. As always, comments and kudos are the best! Tell me what you think of this chapter... I’m curious.

Time passed and Sergiy Stakhovsky waited. 

One August, he found himself trudging miserably down a white washed hallway a few doors down from the players lounge at the 2010 Cincinnati Open. He had just been beaten in the first round by Andy Roddick. 

Roddick was a champion for sure, but a falling champion. His career was almost over, and on his way down he had to go and drag Sergiy with him.

A first round loss… it was unbearable. Sergiy was 46 in the rankings. As the weeks went by he watched it slowly escalate until until he would be nothing more than a blip on the map. This loss was definitely not helping. 

He walked back to the locker room slowly, taking in the linoleum flooring and stucco walls. He opened the door and peeked inside. Empty. He sighed, and begrudgingly grabbed his things before heading out.

Sergiy Stakhovsky was a failure. He still had that video, oh yes. He hadn’t shown it to a single being at all these past two years. It was never the right moment for him to strike. For him… 

There wasn’t anyone else to confide to. There wasn’t anyone else to ask for guidance. He had no accomplice. He has no advice. He had no direction. What was he even going to do with this video? 

Sergiy kicked the door in pent up frustration. His foot burned from the sensation. The door remained intact, much to his dismay. Then Sergiy heard voices. Familiar voices.

It sounded like… oh god. Quickly, Sergiy left the locker room with its still-intact door. He followed the sounds of the voices until he came across a group of exhausted looking cameramen exiting from a small office room. 

They all were too tired to give much acknowledgement to Sergiy. They all seemed more preoccupied with checking their watches and shaking their heads. Once the last of them were cleared out, he peeked in the doorway. 

Sure enough, there they were. The uncontrollable laughter and giggle-ridden broken English was audible all the way down the hallway. Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal were all alone in this small, green room with two chairs facing towards a large camera and a whiteboard with writing on it, probably a script. 

Oh. So they had been shooting a video. A promo, perhaps. And by the looks of the crew involved, it was more time-wasting than planned. Like these two would actually be able to concentrate and act civilly around each other.

Everyone in the world was blind as hell. How could they not see the obvious connection between them?! It was a mystery to him, a frustrating mystery. 

Nadal and Federer were now talking with each other. Their faces were shining and their blushes bright. They were whispering. Well, whispering was never a good thing. 

And of course, as it always happened when Sergiy always walked in on them at every single event they ever were at in every single vacant office room, they kissed. And Sergiy had to roll his eyes before recoiling in disgust from the sight. Idiots. Who did they think they were anyway, to get away with stuff like that? It made him mad. It made him go mad. He couldn’t watch this anymore. 

Sergiy scowled before turning around and heading back to the player’s lounge. He’d go say his last goodbyes to people who couldn’t care less and definitely wouldn’t miss him, before leaving for New York. 

He wished, almost, that those cameramen would go back to the office for some reason and walk in on them. But they wouldn’t, he knew.

And besides, this was Sergiy’s job. This secret was something he could keep for himself. It was nobody else’s. Except… he kind of needed someone to be the initiative. He needed someone to take action. Come on, 46 in the world isn’t going to lead the way… he needed answers. Badly. He needed solutions that would put an end to the kissing happening in that vacant green office room. 

Just at that moment, maybe by an insane stroke of luck, the answers to Sergiy’s questions appeared. Their names were Andy Roddick and Serena Williams. 

They were in front of him in the hallway, maybe ten paces ahead. He could hear their animated conversation as he turned the corner. Williams was in a black tracksuit. Roddick had on his Lacoste kit. She was laughing at something he said. Sergiy couldn’t quite catch it, their English was too fast. 

“And… and you put it on your website, like those are even relevant, under your greatest matches of all time? Really, huh? ‘I beat Andy when we were ten.’ Oh yeah wow, such an accomplishment?!” 

Roddick didn’t seem too happy about something. A website? Williams has her own website? She beat Roddick? That’s not possible. The women are physically incapable of beating the men. That’s just the way it is.

“Okay come on Andy, I bageled you alright? Six-‘O’. You can not deny pure talent. And… because I’ve beaten you… I’ve technically beaten Nadal, Federer, Djokovic, you name it! So yeah, thanks for that. If I didn’t put it on my website, it’d be a completely missed opportunity and you know it.” 

Sergiy rolled his eyes again. Americans… but then, something clicked in his mind. It was something dangerous, something brilliant, something perfect.

Andy Roddick was the frustrated challenger left in the dust of all the finals of Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal’s pursuit. (He may have also just ruined Sergiy’s chances of advancing to round two of Cincinnati but that was a problem for another day.) Roddick had a motive. He would probably jump at the chance to remove two daunting obstacles from his path. 

And Serena Williams, people love her. People trust her. People will believe her as a witness. These components made Roddick and Williams the most ideal witnesses to the situation behind the office door. 

He couldn’t just show them his video. Then they would tell everyone it was him who had taken it and destroyed two successful careers. He couldn’t have that. But, if his witnesses saw it with their own eyes, they’d report this… affair, and his problem would be solved. He’d just sell his video to the highest bidding news source as anonymous and he would never have to worry about it ever again. It was brilliant. 

This affair would have publicity and he would have his money. Sergiy laughed aloud at his sheer intelligence, then stopped. When did he become the evil genius? When he was ignored and when he started losing, that’s when. 

Federer and Nadal had better watch out, Sergiy was coming for them and taking away everything they had. Starting with their little secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A plan has been created! What will Sergiy do now? Also, I totally one hundred percent referenced that match for Africa promo where Rafa and Roger couldn’t stop laughing. I could not help myslef, sorry. If you haven’t watched that video, go do it now! Fourteen minutes of your life well spent. Alright, that’s all from me. Next chapter tomorrow!


	7. When Three Becomes Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the next chapter! There’s some more action in this one... more Andy and Serena. More fedal too! Now we’ll get the Americans’ reactions. What will they do? Well, I know. But you know you gotta add that question for dramatic effect. *effect has been dramatized* 
> 
> Alright, well anyways... some technical stuff. Whenever there’s the: ———— it indicates a POV change. It’ll make more sense in the story I hope!

Sergiy Stakhovsky quickly caught up to the Americans, an artificial smile painted on his face. 

“Andy! Serena! What a surprise… how are you to doing on this fine, fine day?”

Okay, this was just weird. Yes it was all an act, but being nice to these people? Surely they would be suspicious. Sergiy was never nice. To anyone. Hey, it's not his fault everyone else was an idiot. 

The pair turned around. Sergiy could see their futile attempts to mask the disappointment in their eyes. Then Roddick feigned a smile and reached out to shake Sergiy’s hand.

“Sergiy… hi. I… uh, didn’t think you’d… still be here… ” 

Their handshake was stiff and awkward, as were their stares. Williams broke in. 

“I saw your match today… good… job.” 

Her smile was too big to be real as well. Sergiy nodded slowly. 

“Yes, yes, thank you. Well, I was just grabbing my bags and then heading on out. Oh… yes! I did see… Roger and Rafa. They were in that green office room back there,” Sergiy motioned behind him. “They wanted me to tell you that, what was it they wanted to say? Oh yes, they have new ideas about the uh… the… exhibition match in Australia for next year.” 

Sergiy nodded his head convincingly. Improv. Impressive. At that, their eyes lit up. Earlier that year, Roddick and Williams played in an exhibition match with Federer, Nadal, and a lot of other great tennis players not named Sergiy Stakhovsky to raise money for the hurricane damage in Haiti. 

The brilliantly composed name was “Hit For Haiti.” How… generic. But the event had been a success. It had popped into Sergiy’s mind at exactly the right moment.   
Roddick and Williams wouldn’t miss a chance to talk to Federer and Nadal about that. 

They looked at each other quizzically before shrugging their shoulders. 

“Oh, um okay. Thanks… Sergiy,” Roddick said over his shoulder as he and Williams headed off in the direction of the office room where Federer and Nadal were definitely still kissing.

“Yeah, see you around!” Williams called out in more awful cheerfulness. Sergiy flashed his brightest and biggest smile which turned into a grin, an evil one, as soon as they turned their heads. 

All was going according to plan. It was only a matter of time before all those carefully structured foundations caved in. Sergiy could barely wait.

——————————————

Roger should’ve noticed the footsteps approaching the doorway. He should’ve pushed away or, or something when he realized they weren’t going to be alone in the room anymore. 

But no, he ignored them. He thought they were just passing by in the hallway. Roger didn’t know they would stop right outside their door. They should’ve… closed it. Or something. 

Too late now. 

He and Rafa were kissing. It was a normal thing. They would always find a way. They would always be alone. They would always kiss. And they wouldn’t have to hide in those fleeting moments of peace. 

Then there were footsteps that neither of them fully processed. Then there were two loud gasps. Roger and Rafa pulled away. Their breath was heavy and ragged. They stared in shock and terror at the two wide-eyed Americans before them. 

No. 

Andy and Serena. 

No. 

It was over. It was all over.

“No… nonono… oh my god!”

Roger stood up in panic. This could not be happening right now. All their hard work to stay a secret was gone now. Rafa was in a similar state of terror. He was stammering incoherently in Spanish. Roger had no idea what he was saying, and was too preoccupied with the two Americans in the doorway to try and comprehend. All he knew in this moment was that their secret wasn’t a secret anymore. 

Roger just backed up desperately, like a cornered animal, away from Rafa and away from the prying eyes. He then locked eyes with Rafa, who momentarily stopped his rambling to stare back. 

They shared a look. Their eyes resembled the calm before a storm. Together, they turned back to face their American counterparts who were still staring in disbelief. This would be interesting.

—————————

Andy Roddick gaped at Rafa and Roger. …what? What?! They… they were kissing. And they were… were they gay? Were they? How long has this been going on? How could he have been so blind? They had been kissing. Like, in love kissing. Andy shook his head wildly

“You… you guys…”

Andy didn’t really know what to say. He had no idea what to say. What was he supposed to say to them? They looked, well, as terrified as he did. 

Andy had known these two since he started on the tour almost ten years ago. The three were friends… kind of. Sure, they beat Andy ninety out of ten times he stepped out on the court with them, but they were friends. Andy liked these guys. He really liked them. And they… really like each other. But this? He was not expecting this. 

Andy turned to Serena. Maybe she would know what to do? Because Andy certainly didn’t.

“How long have you guys been… that,” Serena eloquently put it. 

She seemed to be at a loss for words as well. Rafa and Roger, they looked like deer caught in headlights. There was embarrassment and shame written across their features. 

That was no good. They didn’t need to be… ashamed. They shouldn’t be. They weren’t wrong. They definitely weren’t wrong and Andy had to find some way to show them that. It’s just… he was in shock, that’s all.

Roger and Rafa looked at him, and at Serena. There was fear. Andy could sense it. Well, they just didn’t know him then. They just didn’t know that he’d never ever be that homophobic close-minded idiot. Ever. 

And Serena was the same. He knew this. He and Serena had been friends since they were ten. She will understand too. But right now, it was their turn to speak. It was their turn to explain. Because Andy and Serena were very very confused. And worried. 

How could they do this? Did they know that one day they could be walked in on, and that day it wouldn’t be Andy and Serena? What would they do then? This meeting was certainly not about Hit For Haiti… 

“I… we… look, Andy, Serena, it’s, it’s not what it… oh my god…”

Roger seemed to be more than a little panicked, but that was completely normal considering this situation. Rafa shook his head and looked down, finally answering the nearly forgotten question from Serena.

“Two… years,” he whispered so softly that Andy could barely detect it. 

“Two years?! How?!” 

Andy had to ask. His tone was too extreme which could not be good for these two nervous wrecks. He should tone it down.

“I mean, how have you guys been doing this, hiding, so well? No one else could do this. How are you guys doing this?!” 

They looked kind of guilty then, but Andy had to turn this around fast so that they didn’t, like, run away or something. 

“And, hey, look, um, this is… not a bad… thing. You guys, you guys are good. Yeah. You’re good. This is… it’s all good. With… us.” 

Well that went terrible. So very very well said Andy. God, give him a microphone and he’d know what to say, but now? He was speechless. 

Serena nodded beside him.

“You two are very… brave to be doing this. Really. It’s… admirable. I had no idea…” 

She made a more successful attempt to dull the tension. Somehow, their words had calmed Rafa and Roger down. Rafa looked at Andy and shook his head.

“Is… is not easy. Being… together. We get to, we be… found if not being careful. Is hard. And… now, now is over.” 

Every wrongly formed sentence warmed Andy’s heart. They were willing to… hide for this. 

“I… we’re together okay? We’re together.” 

Roger looked down and kicked at nothing. 

“We need each other, and… and you can’t tell. Anyone. Don’t. Please.”

We’re still doing this? Andy had to convince them that they weren’t telling anyone.

“Roger, hey, it’s me. Am I going to really destroy your careers?!” 

He had to get through to them… somehow.

“Do you really think we’d do that?” Serena added. 

The defensive look in Roger’s eyes faded after that. 

“You… you’re not going to tell anyone?” There was disbelief in his voice. “If we were gone… you’d win. You’d win everything Andy!”

Okay Roger was delirious now.

“Roger, any victory without you two as obstacles would be completely hollow and in vain. It’s not a win unless it’s against you guys, okay? I could never live in a tennis world without you. How conceited do you think I am?” 

Andy wasn’t really angry. He just needed to explain. Roger seemed to understand. He smiled, as little sadly, but it was a smile nonetheless. Rafa looked at him gratefully.

“Thank you,” he said softly, like before. There were tears in his eyes. 

“Your secret is safe with us. You can trust us. Please know you can.” 

Serena's eyes were warm and bright as she grabbed Rafa’s shoulder and gave him a hug. His response was a watery smile. Now that the tension had died down, Andy had to laugh in spite of the situation. 

They stared at him quizzically.

“What is it now, Andy?” Roger seemed to have found his footing now. Andy shook his head.

“No, it’s just, those pictures… I swear to god you guys are so obvious. Have you seen those pictures?! We are so blind, Serena!” 

Then Serena started laughing too. Roger and Rafa shook their heads before joining in too. 

Peace has been restored. Secrets have been let out, but to the right people. Andy was still kind of in disbelief of the whole situation. But he had just seen it with his own eyes… 

Amidst the confusion, four friends shared a laugh. A laugh in the face of Sergiy Stakhovsky who was now on his way in a taxi to the airport, where he would leave for New York. He was oblivious to his failed plan. 

Andy didn’t know this of course, but now he did know that Rafa and Roger were together. And that was actually pretty cool. These two, huh? Not a bad couple. Not a bad couple at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How’d this one turn out? Was it what you thought would happen? This is definitely not the end, but it’s nice to have a little fluff sometimes! Alright, as always comments and kudos are my best friends and the next chapter will be up tomorrow!


	8. And the World Will Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the next chapter! A little Stakhovsky in the beginning, but more Rafa and Roger. There’s some backstory going on, so not too much action this time. I hope you like it! 
> 
> Again, ——— is POV/scene change. 
> 
> That’s all for now! Enjoy:)

The next morning on a brown leather couch in Kharkiv, Ukraine, Sergiy Stakhovsky eagerly checked the tennis news. He could barely contain his excitement as he typed up the words: “Federer-Nadal Affair.” 

He tapped impatiently on the side of his computer as the browser took its time opening. Sergiy held his breath as he scanned the top headline. 

“Federer and Nadal break into laughter during ‘Match for Africa’ Promo.” What?! You have got to be kidding. 

Sergiy clicked on the link and it brought him to a video of Federer and Nadal laughing like the idiots that were in that green office room at the Cincinnati Open. 

Sergiy backtracked and scanned the rest of the stories. No big affair, no secret romances, no hidden glances, nothing. Roddick and Williams never said anything… They saw them! They had to have seen them! Why aren’t they saying anything?!

Are… are they in shock? Still? Because, Sergiy can live with that for one more week if they could just hurry up and produce a headline worthy enough to turn heads all over the world. 

He just… needed to be more patient, that’s all. Yeah. Patient. His plan had to work. It was, well, it was supposed to work… it had better work.

—————————————————

It seemed that in Rafa Nadal’s life, he was always lying to someone.

When he was younger, it was smaller things. Like telling his mother cheekily that he most certainly did not take the last piece of cake. Or indignantly explaining to his Uncle and Coach (how convenient) Toni that he was not daydreaming and was completely paying attention to his speech for the millionth time on how to correctly toss a tennis ball for your serve. 

And these small things Rafa always felt guilty about afterwards and apologized for. Sometimes his uncle would even berate him on that. Apparently being “too nice” and a “mommy’s boy” were not positive attributes to the perfect tennis player. 

As his life went on though, Rafa realized that he had to lie about more and more things. To himself, even. And no matter how guilty and isolated he felt in his lonely web of lies, he couldn’t tell anyone. Ever. Because if anyone knew, nothing would ever be the same. 

When Rafa was thirteen, he realized that he thought about boys the way most of his friends thought about girls. He realized that he didn’t want a girlfriend. He realized he wanted a boyfriend. And along with these revelations, Rafa decided that this must be kept a secret. Because he was different, and in his world, difference was a weakness. 

Besides, it was sensible to just play the part everyone wanted to see. It was sensible to be the rugged jock. It was sensible to lie day in and day out to everyone, including himself, about his identity. Because no one could know the truth. No one could accept the truth. 

And even if they said they did, he would never be looked at the same way again. He just knew it. And if his laughter sounded nervous and fake when his friends joked with him about not having a girlfriend yet, then so be it. Because Rafa has to be normal. It was the only way to fit into the tennis hierarchy and climb to the top. 

If he had to shove love aside to do so then that’s the way it was going to be. Rafa knows what people have said, about there being no gay men in the top one hundred. 

He intended to keep it that way. 

Rafa first played Roger Federer, his tennis idol, at the Miami Open in 2004. Roger was number one in the world at the time, and Rafa was just another kid from Spain who was destined to lose. 

It was a tough match even though it was only best two out of three sets. Rafa put his whole heart and willpower into prevailing in the end. And he did. After he won match point, after he hugged Roger at the net, after acknowledging the permanent smile on his face, Rafa decided that playing against Roger Federer was the best thing in the world. 

After that day, it just got harder and harder to keep his emotions in check. Rafa caught himself one too many times staring at Roger when he wasn’t looking. Rafa caught himself one too many times thinking about hugging Roger at the net again when he should be practicing. 

It was embarrassing, to actually have feelings for another tennis player. It was absolutely ridiculous. So Rafa just watched Roger from the sidelines in awe, and dreamed in wistful silence of what could have been were the situation different. 

Rafa won against Roger and Rafa lost against Roger but Rafa never truly was with Roger. If only they could just… and then it happened. 

——————————

It was the Wimbledon Final, 2008. Most people know it as the greatest match ever played where Rafa Nadal beat Roger Federer in an epic five setter. Well, Rafa knew it as that too, but also as the day when he and Roger finally truly became together.

And all the precautions and lies and barriers and situations seemed to fade into oblivion with the help of a kiss. Or two. Or… three. It was a wonderful feeling, to be free of the walls he has built around himself. But in the end, there were still the walls that society built around him that refused to capsize.

He and Roger were not supposed to love each other. If anyone knew, their careers would disappear and they would be left with absolutely nothing. No pride, no happiness, no privacy… nothing. It was simply out of the question to tell anyone. 

On some days, who was Rafa kidding, all days, it was torture to keep these secrets for just him and Roger. On a global scale, it wasn’t so bad. But lying to his family was the hardest thing he ever had to do. 

Every time he speaks to them, he feels as if they can see right through him. But they do not, and the guilt slowly eats away at Rafa each time they hug him or tell him they love him or, worst of all, share a secret with him.

Rafa will never forgive himself for the hiding he does. But then he sees Roger, and he remembers why they are doing this all over again. 

Roger Federer glides through life effortlessly in all that he does. He is the epitome of perfection, the definition of success, and honestly Rafa doesn’t even know how anyone in their right mind could compare the two of them fairly. 

Rafa has no idea what he did to deserve Roger. 

Roger, with his nearly perfect English and charming smile and witty phrases that make all those old rich ladies at posh galas erupt in laughter. 

Roger, with his exhibition trick shots executed perfectly during matches and his powerful one handed backhand and his ability to keep up with the serve clock instead of getting violations all the time. (Seriously, Rafa didn’t know how he did it.)

Roger, who smiles at him like no one else and hugs him at the net like no one else and tells him he loves him like no one else. Rafa loved Roger. Roger loved Rafa. And no one else had a clue about it, until Andy and Serena came along. 

The two spirited Americans came upon Rafa and Roger in an empty office room mid-kiss. There was no way to hide, nowhere to run, and no excuses to conjure up. They had been trapped.

It turns out, Andy and Serena were… supportive?! Yes, they were actually supportive of this whole mess. 

And as the years progressed, the four just grew more close as friends. Andy and Serena were overall delighted by the spectacle of the two top players in the world being in love, and voiced this many times. Even if they never actually talked about Hit for Haiti that day, it still turned out better than they’d thought it would. 

Andy and Serena joked with them about it too, sure, but at the end of the day, the Americans gave Rafa and Roger understanding friends to talk to and just be themselves around. It was nice to not be alone for once.

Two years after that fateful day in Cincinnati, Andy Roddick retired from professional tennis. His career put to rest all too soon. With Rafa and Roger in the way, Andy couldn’t achieve anymore grand slam titles. They won everything. And maybe Andy wanted it that way. 

Luckily, he never stayed too far from the sport, or from them, and found time away from his job as a tennis commentator to just hang. Serena’s career was in no way over, and she was never too far away. She was always winning something as well, on the women’s side. 

Serena always made time to watch the matches between Rafa and Roger and laughing quietly to herself as they hugged at the net. The rest of the world, they tried to understand the thing that was Rafa and Roger. They couldn’t, but Serena was fine with that, as long as they got more great matches during finals anyways.

As for Sergiy Stakhovsky? The definition of frustration, annoyance, and failure. Roddick and Williams never said anything. They kept it all a secret. Well, they were idiots too then. 

First of all, Roddick wouldn’t be retired right now if it weren’t for them. Second of all, they’d be famous even outside of the tennis world. Sergiy would kill for publicity like that. Well, only if it was positive publicity. He… he needed these Americans to face the wolves for him! This waiting game of his was a complete failure. 

There was only one thing to do now. Sergiy shut off the 2018 World Tour Final on his tv between Federer and Nadal in disgust. It was time to release a certain “video of interest”.

It was a time way, way overdue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, he FINALLY decided to post the video. I guess you’ll have to wait until the next chapter to see what happens. As always, kudos and comments are my will to live so yeah.
> 
> Okay that’s a little dramatic but you know what I mean! I hope you liked the update! More tomorrow...


	9. Going Viral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is where things start getting serious. Stakhovsky shared the video. What happens now? Well, you’ll get a glimpse of perspective in this chapter. It’s mostly in Serena Williams’ point of view. Also, I have no idea where she really lives or anything about her housing family situation or whatever so I kinda just made it up? I mean obviously I know about Alexis and Olympia but you know what I mean. Alright, I’ll stop rambling now. Hope you like the latest installment!

It was a chilly November morning and Serena Williams was trying to sleep in. Well, trying.

Olympia was babbling loudly from her crib across the hallway and Serena couldn’t concentrate on luxurious sleep when she had to go see what her energetic daughter wanted. Alexis, her husband, groaned next to her. 

“Can you… can you go…” he yawned, “see what it is? I got her yesterday…” He yawned again. 

Serena shook her head tiredly at him, then smiled.

“Fair. I’ll get her.” 

Serena checked the alarm clock next to their bed. It was eight am, definitely time to get up. Serena got up, went to go see what Olympia wanted (turns out she was hungry), took her to the kitchen, and started to cook with the tv relaying the latest news in the background.

Serena always did this, it was her routine. The news helped her concentrate. She didn’t really listen. Only occasionally, when there was something interesting happening. What would it be today? Government plans? Hurricanes? Awards Shows? Royal Weddings she was invited to? 

Serena grabbed a pan from the rack above the stove. Then the stainless steel skillet crashed to the ground, slipping through her fingers, when she heard the names: “Federer and Nadal” coming from the tv. 

What?! No… no. They couldn’t have… no. Their names were on… national television. That cannot be good. That can only mean… 

Serena looked up from the fallen pan on the ground to the tv where a video was playing. A very old video. A very grainy video. A very Rafa and Roger kissing video… 

“Oh my god…” she exclaimed aloud in shock. “No… no way!” 

Their secret, their kissing, their love, their everything… it was all over the news?! What happened? Who did this?!

As if to answer her question, the channel went from the offending video to the picture of a very familiar tennis player. Sergiy Stakhovsky. This couldn’t be happening… him?! 

This player, ranked over a hundred in the world, obscure beyond means, and very outspoken on his backwards views of gender equality and homosexuality in sports, had just turned the world upside down. 

How did he do it? Where did he find this video? Why? Why would he do such an absolutely despicable thing? How dare he? The thought hadn’t ever once crossed Serena’s mind that he had actually known something they did not when he told them about Hit for Haiti. She should have known better. 

How… how were they? Rafa and Roger, did they even know this was happening? Their match last night was absolutely incredible. Roger had won in the end in an epic match with a tie break for each set. It was truly vintage. It was the good old days, back when their joints were not failing them and they had more hair… for one night and one night only. 

Now. This. What time even was it in London anyway? Definitely ahead, so they definitely knew. This was a mess. A complete mess. What were they going to do?

Alexis walked in hurriedly. He had a worried expression on his face. He looked down at the pan on the ground, and back at Serena, who had turned away from the tv to look at him. 

“I… I heard a crash.” 

He searched her face for any sign of a reason as to why there was a pan on the ground. “What happened?” Alexis looked genuinely confused… and worried. Serena could only gesture to the tv wildly. 

“See for yourself! It’s… it’s all over the news. I can’t explain right now, but I need to… hang on, I’ve got to call Andy!” 

Serena picked up the pan and reached for her phone. She rushed into the other room before Alexis could protest. 

She never told him about what she’d seen in 2010. It wasn’t her secret to tell. It’s not like this affected him in any way. It was better to remain oblivious. It was easier that way. And besides, he’d understand soon enough. 

Sadly.

There were over a billion missed calls from nearly everyone she knew, famous and not. She could only guess what they had been calling about. Serena ignored them all, except for the twenty-four missed calls, twenty-one voicemails, and nineteen unread text messages from Andy Roddick. He knew, of course. 

And as for everyone else? They wanted her opinion. When you’re a world class tennis player and two other world class tennis players had just been proven in love, well, people are going to want your input. Serena had no input to give at the moment, and needed only to call Andy so she wasn’t alone in this.

She could only imagine what he’s been doing from the time he saw the news this morning to the time she woke up. Panicking, probably. It’s what she would have been doing. 

He was in Austin right now, two hours ahead of Los Angeles. He’s definitely been up for a while. Quickly, she found his contact in her phone, selected it, and waited anxiously. 

Turns out she didn’t have to wait long, and the monotonous beeping got cut off by the sound of Andy’s panicked voice.

“Serena! Thank god you picked up… oh my god it’s all over the news. Everywhere. There’s this video! Did you see the video?! Number one trending on YouTube, number one trending on twitter, number one trending on Facebook, number one trending everywhere?!” 

Serena nodded frantically, before remembering he wasn’t actually in front of her.

“Yeah… I did! Did you, did you see who published it?!” 

Her voice started out shakily, but she got more enraged by the situation as her sentence progressed. 

Andy snorted.

“Yeah. Sergiy. Stakhovsky. This guy, who’s not even in the top one hundred! The most insignificant human being. The one who actually led us to Rafa and Roger in 2010 and we thought nothing of it! This is unbelievable…” 

Andy couldn’t think of anything else to say. Stakhovsky has slipped right under their radar and they had no idea. 

“Andy, hey… uh, have you… tried to get a hold of them…?” 

Serena started slowly, cautiously. Andy laughed again. It was a grave, humorless, shaky laugh.

“Thirty times, Serena. Thirty missed calls. They’re not going to talk to anyone right now, I’ve tried.”

Serena shook her head slowly. 

“Is anyone trying to talk to you about it?” 

She asked, genuinely curious if the tennis world cared what this retired one slam wonder had to say. 

“Yeah, actually. A couple news shows. The tennis channel. ESPN… I said no to all of them.” 

Serena bit her lip.

“I have some offers too. I haven’t even looked at them yet, but there is no way I’m saying anything about this now.” 

She looked back over her shoulder as she heard Alexis calling her name. They had a lot to talk about. Now he knew. Now everyone knew. Serena sighed frustratedly. 

“I hope… I hope Rafa and Roger are okay.” She lowered her head.

“Yeah,” Andy’s tone was dismal. 

“me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all for now! So yeah, the world knows. In the next chapter, we’ll get Rafa and Roger’s perspectives. I don’t have it all written out yet, but that’s the plan. Comments and kudos, believe it or not, are still totally appreciated and I love hearing the feedback! Alright, more tomorrow!


	10. Fallen Matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I wasn’t able to get out a chapter yesterday... homecoming festivities call! Today we get Rafa’s POV on the whole “the world knows about fedal now” thing. 
> 
> Again, I’m not one hundred percent sure about all the people on his team. I’ve read his autobiography (which I totally recommend by the way) so I know them kinda, but if I missed someone please let me know! Also I have no idea what Xisca’s actual job is (if she has one) so I just chose one that sounded right. Okay, that’s all for now! Enjoy the chapter!

Rafa lay alone in his room in London, England. He sat on the bed, in shock of it all. He studied the walls. 

This was their London house. He and his team used it every year. It was always the same. Pictures of his family, pictures of home, pictures of Roger… 

Roger.

Rafa started up into the eyes of Roger in an old picture of them from… 2013? Yeah. 2013. They were in Mallorca and it was sunny and they were happy and they were alone.

Their smiles were as bright as the sun… their futures as unpredictable as their hair tousled by the wind. 

Things were different now. Rafa turned away from the picture and looked down, his eyes started to tear up. What a mess this all became… 

That morning, Rafa had gotten up at eleven. Usually, he got up by nine for tennis practice, but he had just played the world tour finals yesterday (no big deal) so he saw no need. 

In the end he had lost to Roger. It was always special to play against Roger. And it was always okay to lose against Roger, as long as he tried his best. They produced the most amazing tennis together. 

Rafa wouldn’t normally credit himself, but something was different about their world when they played. It was always a reality bending feat where anything was possible. 

Rafa was happy for Roger. In the end, he was the better player and deserved to win. It was a draining match, especially at their age. Nonetheless, Rafa made sure to be able to make it to Roger’s after party where they talked and laughed together in front of the crowds of people who thought it was the most amusing thing that these two fierce rivals were actually friends. 

But at the end of the night, they both had went back to their separate houses to celebrate with their own teams and families. It was how things always were. What happened the morning after was far, far from routine.

———————————

Rafa had padded sleepily into the kitchen for breakfast, his bare feet pressing on the cold tile floors. Seated at the dining table was his whole team. Carlos Moya, Carlos Costa, Titín, Tuts, Benito, Joan Forcades… and Xisca Perello. What would Rafa do without her?

Xisca, or Meri as Rafa called her, was his childhood friend. They had known each other since before he could remember.

Rafa knew that he would never be normal or have a normal girlfriend. Meri knew too. She had offered to help him, to pose as a decoy of sorts for the press that loved to latch onto stories like this. Rafael Nadal, world famous tennis player, was taken. Sorry ladies. 

So Meri followed them on the tour. She had a job as an interior designer, but was able to work from wherever her laptop was. Their plan was flawless. No one found out. Not even his own team, or parents who had pestered him by asking when he was going to propose to her and start a family. 

They had pretended to be together for twelve years. People were bound to get suspicious at one point. Rafa had assumed that that was why everyone sitting around the table had such grim, fearful expressions on their faces. 

They eyed Rafa with caution and disbelief, as if he had just gone and done the most idiotic… oh no. 

“Carlos?” 

Rafa started reluctantly. Fear crept into his voice.

“What.. what’s going on?” 

Carlos Moya shook his head and looked down, avoiding eye contact. His whole team seemed to be avoiding eye contact. 

Meri looked up at him though. There was defeat in her eyes.

“Rafa… I’m sorry. It’s.. it’s over. They know.”

And after that, Rafa’s world tumbled into black. 

He lost all self awareness and mental consciousness. His brain went into overdrive and short circuited and shut down all together. 

The world knew?! The world… they knew. And… and what would Rafa even do now? What was he supposed to do? What about Roger? Where is Roger? How does the world know? Who. Told. Them?!

Rafa remembered distinctly yelling at Carlos and Carlos yelling back and just… a lot of yelling.

He remembered Meri leaving the house in a rush and Benito calling all his sponsors and Títin calling his Uncle Toni, his parents, and his sister.

He remembered desperately trying to get a hold of Roger, only to be answered by monotonous voice mail. 

He remembered frantically looking his name up online, something he has never done before, and finding a grainy video from 2008 of him and Roger in the Wimbledon locker room and feeling absolutely sick to his stomach. 

He remembered seeing him and Roger kissing. He remembered watching their somewhat fight from 2008 pan out.

He remembered watching their resolve punctuated with another kiss, all for the world to see. He remembered seeing the number one trending sign next to the video. He remembered seeing Sergiy Stakhovsky’s name and being in disbelief of it all.

He remembered running back to his room, slamming the door shut, staring through blurred vision at the trending video, and throwing his phone at the wall as if it were made of hot coal and unfit to handle anymore. 

And there he remained. 

Rafa remembered. He didn’t really feel as if he went through these actions. He just remembered. It was all in a dreamlike stance. No, it was definitely more of a nightmarish one. 

What in the world was he supposed to do now? What was Roger supposed to do now? What were they supposed to do now? Would they have sponsors anymore? Would they have support? Would they even have their careers?

This could not be the end… it can’t! How could they have let this happen? How could they have been so blind and naive… how could Sergiy Stakhovsky have found them and gotten proof? 

Rafa’s next thought was of Andy and Serena. Chances are they knew what had happened by now. Rafa didn’t feel like talking to them. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone. But he hoped they were handling this okay. 

Probably better than he was anyway.

Rafa thought of all the confrontations he’d unavoidably have to have now. 

His uncle, Toni, will be absolutely furious for sure. That one should be fun. And he’ll probably have to beg Nike not to pull out of their sponsorship. He’ll have to talk to his most definitely tearful family and explain his mistakes. He’ll have to create some sort of a public statement for the press to devour. He’ll have to see all the players in the locker room and try his absolute best to avoid eye contact. 

He’ll have to talk to Roger. He’ll have to see Roger and his family and he’ll have to explain to their children and to their mother and to the whole wide world that they had messed up and nothing would ever be the same. 

Worst of all, Rafa would have to apologize. He would have to say he was sorry. 

Was he?

He… loved Roger. And their love should be something that they have to apologize for.

But then Rafa thought of all the lives affected by this whole mess. Maybe it was all his fault after all. Maybe he had better just apologize. Maybe none of this should have ever happened. 

What did he do?! He… he ruined his life. He ruined Roger’s life. If only he just had enough self control back in that locker room in 2008… but no, Rafa had to go and mess everything up. 

Now that he thought about it, this was all one hundred percent his fault and he should apologize to everyone for everything. Starting with Roger. 

Now? No, not now. Rafa didn’t want to see anyone right now. He just wanted to sit here. 

Alone.

Rafa’s phone on the other side of the room buzzed for the umpteenth time. Rafa groaned. He most certainly was not in the mood to check and see who had tried to contact him now. 

Miserably, Rafa turned around in his bed and fitfully stared at the ceiling. He was unable to fall asleep; unable to be fully awake. He just lay there, hoping that this was all sort of some hellish nightmare. Then his phone buzzed again. 

No, this was definitely real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is some semi-depressing stuff. Rafa’s not going easy on himself. There are some big changes in their lives now, with this video leaked. Tomorrow, Roger’s POV. Sometime in the future I’ll fit in media, players, and, our favorite character, Sergiy Stakhovsky.
> 
> Alright, feel free to comment and/or kudo! I love seeing feedback! The next chapter will be up tomorrow. (I promise this time!)


	11. Sense and Sensibility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is... Roger’s inevitable confrontation with Mirka. This was definitely an interesting chapter to write. I hope you all like the approach I took. I think we can all agree on two things: That Mirka always deserves better, and that fedal is endgame. Sometimes it can be hard to meld the two! Enjoy!

Roger Federer stared outside his bedroom window in London. The dreary, rain drenched landscape outside stared back at him. It was pouring outside. Normally, that would hardly be a reason as to why heads would turn. It was London after all. No, it was the circumstances that made this rain so fitting and just.

All Roger could do was helplessly look out through the splattered glass panes at the misfigured world outside and wonder, what would he do now?

The morning had been like every other. Roger had been exhausted, after dealing with all the interviews and press conferences after his World Tour Finals win. 

The feeling had been incredible. Adrenaline powered him through the monotonous publicity drill. After the long day, he was spent. He fell asleep that night, dreaming of Rafa. 

——————————

Roger woke up to the sound of rain pattering on the window panes. The space beside him on the bed was empty. It was where Mirka usually slept. Mirka Federer was Roger’s… wife. 

She was his wife. And he loved her. Kind of. He loved her, but it just wasn’t in the right way. It was not how he loved Rafa. He would never love anyone like he loved Rafa. But Mirka was different. Mirka was… Mirka. 

She was his rock of support. She was always in his corner. She had started off as his doubles partner and somehow became his agent of sorts. He wouldn’t be able to manage anything without her. 

Mirka was also the mother of their four children. Their two sets of twins. The loves of their lives. He loved his children and he loved Mirka. They were very special to him. It’s just… Rafa was special too. But at the end of the day, who would look less suspicious at his side? His mixed doubles partner from 2002, or his most infamous tennis rival? 

He had to do what was most sensible. The world’s eyes were on him. He chose to be public with one person he loved, and that person was Mirka. 

Rafa was a different story. Roger had met him after Mirka. Roger had realized the mistakes he had made with Mirka, but it was all too late. All they could do was love in silence. And as far as Roger was concerned, they were both fine with that. 

Neither of them wanted the world to know. In order to make it so, they would need to minimize suspicion. World class athletes like themselves usually had a wife or girlfriend in their box, watching their matches with nervous looks on their faces. If they didn’t, well, people would start to talk. 

So they had come to the agreement that they would each need a significant other able to draw in normalcy and only that. It was sensible. This whole situation was sensible.

Sensible was definitely Roger’s least favorite word.

——————————

Roger walked softly into the living room, the wooden floor boards creaking underneath his feet. Mirka was on the couch, the tv was shut off. She was facing away from him. 

Was something wrong? He could tell something was… off. She didn’t just… sit down in silence. Mirka was always doing something. Always. Often times she would look up from her laptop or from a sketchbook or… anything really to tell him for the umpteenth time that she was busy and he should go find something useful to do as well. It was just how she was. And Roger loved her for that. 

But… this silence. Something was definitely wrong.

Mirka turned around to face Roger from her spot on the couch and stared at him, accusingly. Her eyes were red and puffy from… crying? She looked… Angry? Hurt? Confused? Definitely an even mix of the three. …What happened? 

Roger backed up a little, alarmed at the sight. He hadn’t seen Mirka cry for so long… years. It’s been years. Now, she glared at him and sneered as he backed away. 

“Ten years, Roger. You kept it a secret for ten years,” was all she had to get out of her clenched jaw for Roger to understand what was going on. 

Oh. Oh… oh god. No. No! It… that can’t be possible… how?! Roger’s eyes widened and he retreated even more, feeling behind him so he wouldn’t trip. 

“M-Mirka I… look, I-I can explain…”

Words were beginning to fail him as he bumped into the opposite wall and stared right back at her menacing glare. Mirka only crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow impatiently.

“I’m waiting.” 

She studied his cowering figure defiantly. Now that the opportunity to actually explain presented itself, Roger suddenly found that he had no idea what to say to make any of this better. He had absolutely nothing now. So he just shook his head slowly, and stared and the ground helplessly. 

This only riled Mirka’s anger. She furiously turned to her laptop and started typing. 

Roger looked up, confused as to why there was no more yelling. Then she turned around again, after scrolling for a bit, got up, and before Roger could protest, shoved the screen in his face. 

Roger was taken back, and it took a second for his eyes to adjust. On the screen… there were pictures, there were quotes, there were statements, and there was an old video from the 2008 Wimbledon final. Oh god. That… that cannot be possible! How?!

Before Roger could say anything though, Mirka stopped scrolling and turned the screen around to face her. There were tears in her eyes as she started reading.

“Professional grand slam winning tennis players Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal have allegedly been in a relationship for ten years.”

Mirka stopped at that part, emphasizing the time and wiping her eyes. She continued. 

“A video released by fellow atp world tour player Sergiy Stakhovsky shows their initial confrontation that sparked this affair. When asked for comments, Stakhovsky told our sources that he had discovered the two players kissing in the locker room after the Wimbledon 2008 finals and took a video that he had finally decided to release for the public after years of seeing these two dancing around each other.” 

Roger shook his head in disbelief. 

“He believes that now all of this will be put to a stop and things on the tour will become normal again. When asked for”-

“Stop!” Roger let out in a choked gasp. “Please…” Every word she read off her laptop just pushed him further and further down into the pit he had dug himself. He couldn’t take it anymore. He just couldn’t. 

Mirka glared at him again, before her expression broke down again. 

“You can’t do this to me Rog, you can’t! And - and our children! Did you ever stop to think for a second about our children?! Or your family?! Or anyone?!”

The anger was back again. 

“Are you just too selfish to think properly? Are you really only going to think about yourself? God, how could you be so… stupid?!” 

Roger lowered his head in defeat. 

“L-Look, Mirka, I… I’m sorry okay? I’m really sorry and I messed up. Yeah, I messed up. And now, now I pay for it. But… please, I’m really… I just couldn’t anymore Mirka. I had to be with him. I’m… I can’t say I’m… but I am. I just, I’m sorry.” 

There were tears in Mirka’s eyes. There were tears in both of their eyes. Mirka walked up to him.

“How could you just… do this? We could have been a happy family Roger. But… you were never really happy. I guess you never really were. And… and I guess you were never planning on telling me about this? Ever? Was I just going to go to my grave thinking I had a loving husband who cared about me like he did no one else? Or were you planning on telling me.” 

The glint in her eyes was one of determination and defiance. And knowing disappointment. She caught Roger off guard. Was he ever actually going to tell her? Roger wants to believe that he would… but there was a sinking feeling in his stomach when he realized that no, he would have definitely kept this secret. Forever. 

And the guilt was slowly gnawing away at him… he just would have never done anything about it. But now… now everyone knew. And there was nothing Roger could do about it.

All he could do was turn away from Mirka and apologize. Again. 

“I’m sorry, Mir. I am. But I can’t take back what I’ve done. I… I don’t really… want to.” 

She grabbed his shoulder and turned him around to face her.

“You mean… you’re not really sorry then. You’re not.”

Roger tried to protest, but his attempts were futile. 

“No. You would never take it back. You had such a fine and dandy time these past ten years, lying to your wife and to your four children. Did you even think about them, Rog?” 

The guilt trip had devoured him now. The children? He… he loved them. But as always, he was careless and somewhere along the line, his carelessness has led the word to discovering his and Rafa’s secret.

He had to find a way to get through to Mirka. But did he even deserve to? He was a terrible husband. And he would be the first in line to admit the fact. What would salvage what he’d done? Forgiveness. Did he deserve it? No. What was one supposed to do in this situation? 

“I… I did think of them. But it was all stupid thinking and… it was never serious. I just thought I could try and have a normal family. I thought I could do it, balance you and Rafa. It’s just that… I’m sorry Mirka… but I-I love, I love… him.” 

His own eyes widened as he uttered the words. Mirka’s did too. 

“Yeah. I love him.”

Roger repeated with newly found confidence. 

“You don’t mean that Roger. You can’t possibly…”

Mirka asked incredulously.

“I do. It’s been ten years. And… and I do. That is something I can tell you.” 

Before Mirka could interject, he continued.

“I’m not asking you for forgiveness. I don’t frankly deserve it. But please, I do love him. And I want to be with him. I always wanted to be with him. With you it’s different. I love you. But… it’s a different type of love. If you don’t understand what I have with Rafa, it’s fine. I understand. He’s my fiercest rival, we’re nearing the end of our careers, there are other players and officials and sponsors and fans and maybe one fateful day after a Wimbledon final, two young naive boys were just so overwhelmed with everything that they tricked themselves into believing they were in love. If you want to think that, go ahead. I don’t know what to say, alright? There’s nothing I can say.” 

Roger waited for a response and did not get one. He had stunned Mirka into silence. Before she could recover, Roger ran to the guest bedroom and slammed the door shut and collapsed on the bed. 

The rain drummed rhythmically on the window panes, serving as a beat for his silent melancholy tune. 

Roger lay there for ten minutes in silence, just thinking. What would he even do now? 

Their secret was out. What used to belong to Rafa and Roger now belonged to the whole world. Well, Rafa, Roger, Andy, and Serena. And apparently Sergiy Stakhovsky? Oh god, what a mess. 

He had to talk to his formerly oblivious team, sponsors that were most definitely considering ending their contracts, suspicious fellow tennis players, his children who he loved dearly and never truly wanted to hurt the way he was, and Rafa. 

Rafa. 

Where was Rafa? Somewhere else in London, definitely. He was probably having the worst experience dealing with this like he was. Who knows? Maybe he was also staring out of a foggy window at the downpour outside? 

Roger was just drifting into a melancholy sleep when he heard the door cautiously open. He looked up in surprise to see Mirka standing there. There was a sort of internal peace in her eyes that hadn’t been there earlier. 

“M-Mirka? What are you…”

“You really love him, huh?” 

Her question shocked him. Did she know what she was saying? Was it… was it what he thought it was?

“Y-Yeah. I… guess I do.” 

At that, Mirka smiled sadly and looked straight into Roger’s eyes. 

“I… I can’t forgive you right now. I just can’t.” 

At that Roger lowered his eyes and mentally berated himself for having false hope for something he didn’t deserve. 

“But,” She continued, “there are a lot of people against you right now, Roger. I can’t forgive you, but I can support you. And I will. I promise.”

At that, Roger looked at her in surprise. What? 

“Mirka… I…” 

Roger was at a loss. Mirka moved forward and sat next to him on the bed. After a moment of hesitation, she hugged him. 

Roger froze, but then melted into the embrace. 

Together they weeped silently. Out of sadness? Partly. There was a lot that needed to be done now that Roger and Rafa’s secret was out. But there were also tears of joy, because Roger would not be alone in this whole mess. 

Yes, there would be uncertainty. But with Mirka by his side, things looked a lot less daunting. He had an ally. An ally he least expected. 

Roger knew for sure at that moment that he loved Mirka for everything she had done. He would never be who he was without her.

That was something to always be grateful for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Do you think Mirka was right? Or maybe she should have been less supportive? Or more forgiving? I’m genuinely curious as to what your views on this topic are. It’s definitely a touchy one, but I hope my chapter dealt with it okay! If you haven’t already, I really appreciate comments and kudos. They are really powerful motivation boosters! Alright, that’s all from me now. Chapter twelve will be up tomorrow!


	12. Baiting Awaits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, more Stakhovsky in this one. This is probably going to be the last of him. Can’t say I’m gonna miss the guy. In this chapter there is justice. Pure justice. You’ll see why...

“Federer and Nadal announced they were pulling out of Brisbane a week ago.” 

Sergiy Stakhovsky turned his attention to the reporter in the blue baseball cap who had addressed him. 

“What are your thoughts on that?” 

Sergiy has just completed the first round in Brisbane by beating Gilles Muller in straight sets. Now, in his presser, he was being asked about the most promising news he’d heard in a long time. He smiled wildly.

“Yes. I think it was a… wise decision on their part. The world is in shock, you see. Federer and Nadal are not ready for that type of… publicity.” 

Satisfied with Sergiy’s response, the reporter looked down at his computer again. 

“How does it feel, to have uncovered such a shocking revelation?”

Another reporter had been called on. Her question in a thick French accent made Sergiy groan. He had been asked this question nearly twenty times already. Sure, they all had different variants of wording but it was all the same. 

This repetitiveness was one of the reasons Sergiy had hesitated to reveal his part in this figurative hurricane in the first place. Before, nobody cared what the irrelevant Sergiy Stakhovsky has to say. Now, as the leaker of juicy gossip, everyone wanted his opinion on everything. It was exhausting.

Sergiy turned to the reporter with one of his award-winning fake smiles and started to answer her question.

“Look, what I’m doing, it’s definitely big. It’s definitely important. It’s definitely changing tennis. With Federer and Nadal gone for the time being… we can allow some other players to claim titles and climb to higher positions in the rankings.” 

There was a dull murmur from the group before him. 

“Am I saying that they deserved this? Maybe. Am I saying that they definitely should have seen this coming? Yes. I do. It’s nobody’s fault but theirs that they decided to do something so… monumentally disastrous. I was just able to profit from it. I guess I should be saying thank you.” 

The murmuring intensified.

“I mean, as long as they stop their… relationship… I’m satisfied.” 

Almost immediately, another reporter signaled to speak. Sergiy gestured towards him, impatiently. 

“Mr. Stakhovsky, in 2015 you made some negative remarks on the LGBTQ community. You had originally claimed that there were no gay men in the top one hundred. If you knew the truth then, why comment on that? Why wait ten years for something you could have done a long time ago?” 

Sergiy scratched his chin, frustratedly. 

“I mean, hey, I just… it was never the right time. It just wasn’t. I thought, maybe I should wait awhile? Maybe I should wait for the right moment? So I did. And now seemed right, so I released the video. In 2015… I was waiting. I said some things… they weren’t really true. Now normally, you can trust me. I’m a trustworthy kind of guy. But then? I lied. Big deal.”

Sergiy shifted uncomfortably in his chair and reached for the water bottle in front of him. 

“Last question,” the supervisor called out.

Sergiy sank, relievedly, into his seat and warily eyed the last reporter with a question for him.

“First of all, congrats on your win today,” She started. 

Oh good. Maybe this would be an easy question after all. Something tennis related. *That* he could do. Sergiy was prepared to gloat about his excellent form that afternoon, but the reporter in question had other ideas. 

“With all due respect sir, how exactly did you end up in the Wimbledon locker room that day? Did you have a pass? Permission? A real reason? Some things, they just don’t add up. If you could explain why you were there, that would be appreciated.” 

Well, shit.

“Well, uh… you see, I just, I forgot my bag, that was it. Yeah. I forgot my tennis bag. And… and so I took a plane back to London. I… went to Wimbledon. It was the last day. The finals. So… these guards, they were there. They said I could go grab my bag. So I went in there, and… it wasn’t there. Federer and Nadal were. So I took a video. And… and by the time they were… done, I realized that my bag was actually at home the whole time.” 

There were those annoying whispers again.

“So yeah,” he added for effect. 

Just as he was about to stand up and forget the past ten minutes, the annoying reporter started up again. 

“I’m sorry, but, you got out of Wimbledon in the first round, correct?” 

Agitatedly, Sergiy nodded. 

“Did it really take you a whole week in Ukraine to discover that your bag was missing, only to find that it had been with you the whole time?” 

Sergiy gulped nervously.

“...yes.” 

I mean, it sounded convincing enough, right? Okay, now he really had to go before she asked anymore-

“An investigation is being made, on the locker room where you filmed the video. Security footage has been shown of you simply waiting behind a row of lockers. Would you care to explain?”

How did they…? Oh god. This was not good. Not good at all. 

“I… I…” 

What could he say? What could Sergiy say to cover up for his mistake? The… truth? He mentally recoiled at that. There had to be another way. Only in this case, there wasn’t. 

He was trapped.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have an answer to that,” he meekly replied.

The now overconfident, cocky reporter nearly laughed with the dirt being literally handed to her on a plate.

“You mean to tell me that you have no explanation? You… you are basically admitting to breaking and entering at this point. To do what? To spy on them? What exactly were you looking for?”

She was snickering now. Sergiy couldn’t do this. He has to get out of here. He… he should have just paid the damn fee and skipped the press conference. 

Sergiy looked to the supervisor helplessly. He only studied Sergiy accusingly. Now that he thought about it, everyone was staring at him with suspicion. The room pretty much reeked of it. 

“Look,” Sergiy got up out of his chair quickly. 

“I came here to… to talk about tennis alright? I just played a great game out there, a great game! And all anyone ever wants to talk about is stupid Federer and stupid Nadal and now their stupid love!” 

Sergiy was yelling now. He was too fed up to care at this point.

“Did I have a reason for being in that locker room? Yes! I did! I was trying to find something on those two that would get rid of them from the tour! For good! And I did! Sure, I had to lie about my tennis bag to do it, but I did! You people are so goddamn insufferable! This is absolutely incredulous! You can say whatever the hell you want to about me… I’m outta here!” 

With that, a red-faced Sergiy Stakhovsky angrily stalked out of the media room. 

After his exit, the media room was dead silent. Nobody dared say anything.  
But it was a press conference after all, and gossip is these reporters’ middle names. After a good thirty seconds, they erupted into erratic conversations amongst themselves.

Sergiy Stakhovsky had done a pretty stupid thing in there, that afternoon. One knows they should never, ever give the press any wild ideas to run away with. 

Ever. 

Now, Sergiy had just practically gifted them with enough bait to catch all the fish in the whole world. There would most certainly be twenty different articles about the incident in tomorrow’s news. Maybe even twenty-one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press conferences. We love to hate them. Maybe this was also a way of calling myself out on plot holes, who knows? Anyways, Sergiy’s plan backfired yet again. I could feel sorry for him. But I don’t. As always, thank you for comments and kudos! They feed me. The next chapter will be up tomorrow!


	13. Confrontation Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Rafa and Roger in this one! This chapter shows the ways that they are dealing and coping with their current situation. First Roger and Mirka. Second Rafa and Toni. Enjoy!

Mirka swiftly opened the door to the office room in their London house where Roger was sitting quietly. 

Roger was supposed to be writing a statement in collaboration with Tony Godsick, his agent, on how to explain their… situation… to the public. 

Has he spoken to Rafa yet? No. Does he know what Rafa is doing about this mess? No. There has been radio silence from both their ends. But the media wanted a statement, so a statement they would get. Just… not now. 

Roger’s life had frozen after the video was released. Between explaining himself to his team, to his children (a… tough experience), to his parents, and to his wife who now made Roger sleep in the guest bedroom (it’s comfier anyway, she had told him), there wasn’t much time for tennis.

So far, things had been good. Slow, but good. Surprisingly, his team did not shut him out. His children seemed… confused. But, but that’s normal. And it’s better really, if they didn’t completely know what was happening. His parents had been supportive like he hoped they would be. 

And Mirka… Mirka stood by his side the whole time. She was right, she wasn’t going to forgive him. Not now. Their exchanges were of solid structure, but there was also a coldness in their speech that wasn’t there before. It was expected, definitely. Honestly, Roger was glad she even decided to put up with him as his agent. 

Roger was inactive, and quite frankly afraid, about giving a statement to the public on his love for Rafa. Even more infuriating, he had been too cowardly to try and get a hold of Rafa. 

Every time Roger tried to call, his hand would start to tremble and his vision would blur and he would exasperatingly throw the phone down on the table and go find some far fetched source of procrastination that would prevent him for a couple hours from trying again. 

Eventually, even Mirka grew fed up with his behavior and urged him to call. Roger blatantly refused, each time. She didn’t stop encouraging him to write a statement though, and kept him up to date on the latest developments of his status in the public’s eyes. 

Sometimes that meant his sponsors, and their thoughts on this matter. Roger didn’t know how any of them would react. Mirka had the answer, for one of them.

“Rolex is considering not renewing their contract.”

She had a thoughtful look on her face, as she studied Roger intently for a reaction. It was subdued, but his eyebrows furrowed in understanding.

“What? When did they… say that?” 

Mirka checked her phone quickly. 

“Well… they just called me five minutes ago to ‘give me the good news’.” 

Her eyes softened at Roger’s worried expression. She approached him and patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. 

“Hey. Rog. It’s… there was going to be someone negative out there, you know. It was bound to happen.” 

Roger looked up at her with a blank expression. 

“Is there… is there anyway they’d consider renewing the contract?” 

Roger held his breath as Mirka started to answer him.

“They said they want to see the public’s reaction… to a personal statement. From you.” 

Roger let out the breath in a dismal sigh. 

“Sorry Roger, but it’s the only way. And anyways, Rolex or no Rolex, you still need to write *something*.” 

She gave him a small, encouraging smile. It was a rarity, and one of the first since this whole ordeal. 

“I know you can do it.”

Mirka started to continue and then hesitated, before adding: 

“And… call him,” which she managed to get out in a soft whisper. 

Roger looked down at the floor. They both knew who she was talking about. Before Roger could protest though, she had walked out the door and down the hallway, leaving him to his thoughts. 

He certainly had a lot to think about.

——————————————

Rafa wanted to go home.

He wanted to return to the golden sand beaches and sparkling blue waves of Mallorca. He wanted to be able to sit outside at night and be able to count all the stars in the sky with a warm breeze blowing from the south. He wanted to look out over the rolling hills and majestic cliffs and feel a sense of peace. He wanted peace. No, scratch that, he *needed* peace.

In London, the skies were grey, and the atmosphere was dramatically gloomy. After the news of him and Roger broke out… Rafa was afraid to leave. He was afraid to go anywhere. He didn’t want to see anyone, and he certainly didn’t want to talk to anyone. 

His conversations with his family and team had already been unbearable enough. The guilt alone was enough to swallow him whole. There was so much… shock. 

Nobody expected anything like this happening. Not even his own sister. Who, after finding out, had a more cautious and observing approach towards him. His parents as well. It was like… it was like they didn’t know him anymore. That was the worst of all. 

They were all supportive, yes. Just… surprised. And…and it would take awhile before he gained their trust back. It was something he would definitely work towards. Just not now, when the whole situation was too fragile. The relative Rafa had tried to avoid the most was his Uncle Toni. 

Rafa and Toni’s relationship was… complicated to say the least. The older man wasn’t Rafa’s coach anymore, and hadn’t been for nearly two years. Rafa didn’t even find out about Toni’s resignation from the man himself. He had left that to the news. His nephew was bound to find out from an article at some point, right? After his retirement from coaching though, Toni continued to help Rafa by working at his successful academy at home in Mallorca.

He was always, always there for Rafa. Not always as a comforting, supportive figure, but he was there. He never told you what you wanted to hear, only what you needed to hear. That attitude, released upon Rafa at a young age at group tennis lessons, helped shape him into the grand slam champion that he was now. Rafa would be nothing without his Uncle Toni. And Rafa loved him, icy glare and all. 

But now, things were different. Now, truths had been unleashed in the world and Rafa had no idea how anyone would react. Especially his uptight uncle. 

There had been many phone calls that Rafa did not pick up. But at one point, probably at the ninetieth try, you give up and give in and answer the phone. 

It was late, he was tired, and there was nothing better to do alone in his room. Maybe that’s why Rafa finally clicked the green button on his phone that accepted the call from his determined uncle. It had been ringing nonstop for literally an hour. What else was he supposed to do? 

Rafa didn’t have any promising ideas that didn’t involving throwing his phone into the river, even if that sounded pretty tempting. But that would result in pollution, and Rafa most certainly was not going to be a litterer. Not now. Not ever. Not even if desperate times called for desperate measures. Not even if his uncle Toni called nearly a hundred times. So in the end, Rafa picked up the phone. 

At first, there was a silence. Then an uncertain voice from the other end of the line started to speak.

“...Rafael?”

Rafa gulped. He could hang up right now. He could do it… just click the red button and-

“Hello… Toni.”

Rafa scowled at his own determination. It was too late to take anything back now.

“You… you picked up the phone.” 

Toni seemed incredulous, but there was a knowing tone in his voice that indicated that he knew Rafa would give in at some point. He sounded… amused.

“Yes. Yes I did.” 

Rafa kept his answers short and clipped. He didn’t want to be having this conversation right now. Or ever. But ultimately, it was unavoidable.

“Do you realize what is happening right now, Rafa? Outside, in the world, did you see what you’ve done?” 

Before Rafa could even try to respond to his uncle, he continued. 

“You know what? Of course not. You… you sit alone in your room all day not eating anything. It’s been forty-eight hours. What the hell do you think you’re doing, pulling out of Brisbane?! That was a valuable practice tournament for the Australian Open! And… your tennis. You *need* to practice. I don’t care that you just competed in the world tour finals, it’s no goddamn excuse!” 

Rafa waited five seconds before cautiously answering his uncle’s fury. 

“You… I should play tennis? Now?” 

Rafa was shocked that in his uncle’s little rant, almost nothing was said about the actual affair he had with Roger. It was all tennis. In a way… that was comforting. Tennis was something that Rafa knew most, but he just didn’t feel like doing right now. Tennis was a reminder of Roger and he didn’t want that right now. But still… his uncle’s approach was suspicious.

“You’re not going to yell at me… about what happened?” 

Honestly why did Rafa even pick up the phone if he was just setting himself up for a humiliation session with the one and only Toni Nadal? 

The former coach paused, seemed deep in thought, and finally answered in a calmer tone.

“I am your uncle, Rafael. I am not your… marriage counselor.”

Rafa felt himself blush in spite of the whole situation. 

“What do you want me to say? That you shouldn’t have fallen in love? That you shouldn’t have fallen in love with another man? A fellow tennis player? Roger freaking Federer?! Is that what you wanted me to say?” 

Rafa recoiled slightly and put his head down. He should have known his uncle would be like this. He should have-

“Well, I’m not going to say it.” 

Rafa perked his head up in confusion and listened more intently.

“What… what do you mean?” He asked hesitantly.

“Rafael, I respect all your decisions, they are your own after all. Why should I not? You are successful, and I have taught you well. If you really do love Federer… then there really is nothing I can say against it. As for all the media, I believe you will be strong in this and you must not cower in your room any longer. If you’re going to be in a relationship with *the* Roger Federer, as in your actual rival Roger Federer, then it had better be worth it. You have to go make it worth it, Rafael.” 

Rafa was stunned into silence. When had his uncle spoken like this… ever? He could not remember. And… and his uncle was encouraging him? And… supporting him? How was this possible? It was really raining in hell now. 

But… take action? Rafa couldn’t do that… could he? It still felt too soon. Unless it always felt too soon. Maybe it would never get any easier unless he did something about it? 

Before Rafa could give a delayed response to his uncle’s speech, he continued on again in a more straightforward direction.

“Go. Talk to them. Talk to him.” 

Rafa sighed and sat in a thoughtful silence for two seconds. Now it would be then… now he would go. 

“Okay, Toni. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Rafael.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re *finally* making progress here! I do appreciate Uncle Toni for all he’s done helping to create the Rafa we know today, even if his methods were a little iffy. What do you all think of Toni? Did I get his characterization right in this fic? He’s a tough character to crack, but I gave it my all! Okay... comments, kudos, you know the drill :) The next chapter will be up tomorrow!


	14. Wake Up Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, there is some fedal interaction in this chapter! They are finally going to talk to each other after everything that’s happened. And Rafa is going to talk with his family and team as well. Let me know what you think of this chapter! All I know now is that the next one is going to be all Rafa and Roger and not much else for once. They need to have a one on one. I’m excited to write it! Alright, enjoy!

The next morning, Rafa woke up to silence. The clouds had finally receded and the sun was out. Rafa groaned. The weather outside reflected the complete opposite of his current mood. He almost preferred the dismal drizzling to the warm rays inhabiting the sky now. 

Today Rafa was going to call Roger. It was a conversation that he had been avoiding for as long as possible. It was a conversation he was certain would end in disaster. They hadn’t talked at all since the news broke out. It had only been a few days, but it felt like a whole lifetime. 

After his uncle’s uncharacteristic pep talk, Rafa realized that he couldn’t put off a confrontation with Roger any longer. Even if nothing would ever be the same between them ever again. 

The evident difference was really what Rafa was afraid of. He knew this news had affected himself negatively, and did not want to see how it affected Roger. The uncertainty of their relationship now made Rafa fill with dread. The thought of losing Roger in all this, on top of everything else, was unbearable. 

Rafa didn’t want to see Roger and learn that it really was all over. He believed it would be better to have hope and never know, then find out it really was all over after all. But there was no point in having hope if he wasn’t going to confront Roger ever again. If their relationship couldn’t stand the world knowing about it, then it just wasn’t meant to be after all. 

Rafa was determined to prove this wrong. He had to. And there was only one way. It was time to act. It was time to face the storm. It was time to call Roger. 

Shakily, Rafa turned his phone on and painstakingly navigated the apps to find the actual phone component. Then he went into the contacts, and found Roger’s name. No missed calls. Maybe he shouldn’t… no, he had to. 

Rafa closed his eyes and braced for impact as his finger made contact with the glass screen. When no explosions occurred, he cautiously opened his eyes to the sound of the monotonous beeping that signified that Roger was getting a call. From Rafa. 

Ten agonizing seconds later, during which Rafa contemplating hanging up ten times, he could hear the other line being picked up. Rafa held his breath. 

“Rafa.” 

It was all Roger said in a shaky whisper, but it was enough to make Rafa fall apart. What had they done? 

“Roger…” 

And then there was silence for a good ten seconds, neither end of the line knowing exactly what to say in this situation. 

“I’m sorry,” they both said simultaneously. 

Rafa laughed uneasily, Roger did as well. 

“You… you go first,” Roger insisted. 

The mood became dark again. The tension could be sliced clean in the middle with a knife. What was Rafa supposed to say? That he was sorry for screwing up their lives with his own selfishness ten years prior? 

Rafa… he loved Roger. This was a recent realization, and Rafa was almost certain that Roger didn’t feel the same. He had guilt, and embarrassment, at the thought of telling this to Roger and having him leave.

Roger had Mirka. Roger didn’t need Rafa. Not when he could have better. Why did he even put up with Rafa all these years? Yes, they were attracted to each other, but did they love each other? Rafa sure hoped so, but there was no way to tell. Especially not now, when everything was upside down and backwards. Now he just needed to apologize, and hope. 

“Roger… I’m really sorry. I am. Is… none of this… none of your fault. It is all mine. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have tried…” 

This was harder than he thought it would be, and he thought it would be hard. 

“Roger, maybe we shouldn’t be together. We… we were young, and… and we didn’t know.” 

Treacherous tears were threatening to fall from his eyelashes which desperately tried to keep them at bay. The world became more distorted and blurry with every passing second. 

“I… I understand if you want to not be with me anymore. What happened with Mirka… is not fair to her. She deserves better. We both know this. We… I was wrong. I am sorry.” 

Rafa bowed his head guiltily and concluded his speech. Then there was silence.

Roger seemed to regain his wording, and finally reacted to Rafa’s… apology.

“Rafa… what, what are you saying? You… you don’t… just don’t. Please.” 

Roger seemed really confused to Rafa, so he gently inquired, as not to do any damage. 

“What don’t I mean, Roger?”

“You… you’re not going to leave, are you?” 

His voice was ridden heavy with worry. Rafa lowered his head and answered.

“Is that what you want me to do?” 

Rafa held his breath as he waited for Roger’s reply. Even if he himself didn’t want to admit it, he wanted to stay with Roger too.

“No! No… it’s not. Rafa… why is this all your fault?” 

Before Rafa could explain, Roger continued.

“‘Cause it’s not. It’s not just your fault. It’s mine, too. Anyone would be blind, to think that this whole mess was caused by only one of us. Rafa, you don’t need to leave. Don’t. I don’t… want you to. Do you… do you want to leave?”

Rafa stared at his phone thoughtfully and started picking at the case.

“No. No I… don’t.” 

He could hear Roger breath a sigh of relief on the other end. When he next spoke, Rafa could hear the soft smile in his voice. 

“Come over.” 

Then it was Rafa’s turn to smile.

“I will.”

———————————

When Rafa thought he looked somewhat suitable to walk outside in the streets of London (a baseball cap and sunglasses were a must, even if it wasn’t even really that sunny), he headed out of his room. The shocked faces that greeted him at the breakfast table were that of his family and team. They all stared at him wordlessly, as he sat down and reached for the pitcher of orange juice as if nothing had happened. 

“You… you came out of your room…” his mother sounded incredulous. 

Rafa gave her a small smile.

“Yes… I did.”

And there was another long silence. Rafa assumed he had better get used to them. 

“It… it was too boring in there.” 

He tried to brighten the mood. The faces around him were only that of concern. His sister then quietly tried to get him to explain what was happening by addressing one of the main problems of the last few days.

“You have spoken to barely anyone. You’re worrying us. Toni called us. He said that you had been speaking with him. Toni, of all people!” 

Rafa’s mouth went dry.

“What… what did he say?” He asked cautiously. 

She sighed frustratingly. 

“Barely anything! He was so vague… he told us he had been speaking to you, but didn’t say what about. I mean I guess we could all assume…”

She glanced knowingly at their mother and to Carlos Moya, who was sitting next to her at the table. 

“We have been worried sick, Rafael. You don’t just… vanish like that! I know this news is a tough thing for you to grasp, but that doesn’t give you the excuse to block us out like that! We were worried. I was worried. You need to talk to us. Explain yourself. Please.” 

Rafa’s eyes widened in shock at his sister’s dramatic plea. He would have never expected her to be so blatant. Or so blatantly right. Rafa gave a defeated sigh and deflated in the wooden chair he was sitting in. 

“I’m sorry, Maribel,” he apologized sincerely. “I’m sorry… to all of you. You shouldn’t have to go through this… it’s not fair. Maribel is right, I must explain to you all. And… I will. Just… I can’t right now.” 

Then Carlos Moya interjected gently.

“Well, why not?” 

Rafa sighed deeply. 

“I don’t even know exactly what is happening myself. I have been in my room all this time… being inactive. I won’t do that anymore. I promise. But… before I explain, I need to go see someone.” 

Rafa pushed the seat out from the table and got up quickly. He didn’t even eat anything, maybe stopping at the table was a bad idea. Maybe he should snuck out the back… no. That was stupid. Then he would literally be gone instead of just figuratively and his family would be worried sick. But they didn’t need to know where he was going. They just didn’t.

“Well, who are you going to see?!” 

Carlos was a little more impatient now.

“...Roger,” was all Rafa had to get out of his lips before the table before him erupted in contradiction. 

“Are you mad?!” 

Carlos started again. His face was red now. 

“You… you’re going outside in the broad daylight… to see Roger Federer?! Now? No. I will not allow it!” 

Rafa started to interject but Carlos continued. 

“No! Just… no! Look, you may have been under a rock these last few days… but people are pretty riled up over this news. You will be found, Rafa. They will find you. You can be sure of this. You can’t just take that risk when you haven’t even made a statement yet!” 

Rafa’s coach was madly shaking his head. Rafa shook his head sadly too.

“No… Carlos, I am sorry. I have to go. I need to see him. We need to talk. Please, let me go.” 

Carlos studied Rafa thoughtfully for what felt like forever, before hesitantly slumping his shoulders. 

“Fine. Go. See… him. Just… come back in one piece alright?” 

With that, Carlos smiled softly. Rafa returned the gesture.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully, before heading out the door into the manic streets of London. 

The world before him was busy and bright and overwhelmingly contrast to the drab confinements of his room. Rafa hurried towards the nearest clump of people and tried keeping up with them, to look as if he belonged here in this hyperactive city. 

He kept his head low and his eyes trained on the phone in his hand that had the directions to Roger’s house. It was within walking distance, so he might as well get some exercise. He needed the sunlight anyway. Roger’s house was about ten minutes away. The commute wasn’t too bad.

Daringly, Rafa looked up towards the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight to punctuate the blue. A few pigeons flew by, and he could make out a plane with its thin line of smoke. 

Rafa smiled to himself. Maybe looking up was better than looking down. Maybe that glass really was half full. Maybe his meeting with Roger would go well after all and maybe this whole dilemma will be sorted out. 

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes chapter 14! What do you think of their first conversation since everything happened? I tried to make it realistic, but that’s hard when there’s not much to base it off of! Anyways, I hope you liked it! Chapter 15 will be up tomorrow! Comments and kudos really do provide great inspiration for my later chapters, if you have any suggestions or feedback!


	15. Navigation Towards Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I lied. My imagination ran away with this chapter. What was supposed to be a quick transition of Rafa walking to Roger’s house, turned into a pretty significant conversation with Andy via phone. That’s pretty much the chapter. I did enjoy writing this one though, and I PROMISE, I promise, Fedal tomorrow. Enjoy!

About five minutes into his walk, Rafa felt his phone start to vibrate in his pocket. Curious, and eager for a distraction that would help him forget the fact that he was going to talk to Roger, Rafa took it out and checked to see who was calling him this time. Andy Roddick.

Rafa gave a wry smile. Andy… In those past few days of silence, there had been so many calls from him… and Serena. They had a part in their secret, and they had a right to see how Rafa was faring. He had ignored all of them, though. But now… now was his time to act, to take initiative, to finally answer the phone. Rafa accepted the call.

Andy wasted no time.

“Rafa! Rafa oh god you finally… you answered! The phone! You picked it up! Oh god Rafa…” 

Rafa’s tight grin turned into a genuine smile in spite of the dire means of the call. It was good to hear this amusing style of speech, that was just so “Andy” he didn’t have a word for it, again. He missed the Americans. They hadn’t talked in awhile regardless of the situation… but now it was inevitable and necessary.

“Hi Andy,” Rafa responded quietly in contrast. 

He could hear Andy groan, exasperated, on the other end of the line.

“Really? ‘Hi Andy’? Am I really only getting a ‘Hi Andy’ after complete silence?! You can’t do that Rafa… please tell me you’re not actually gonna do that.”

Rafa sighed. He wouldn’t get away with anything, which was understandable but he selfishly wished everyone could just forget the past few days and forgive him for everything. But that was selfish. Rafa wasn’t about to let this ordeal turn him selfish. Not now.

“Sorry, Andy. Really… I am.” Rafa tried again in a more somber tone. “These past few days have been… they were hard.” 

Andy answered, this time in a softer voice.

“Hey… I understand. It’s alright Rafa. I… I’m sorry if I kinda yelled at you there. You’re going through some pretty tough stuff, you and Roger. I was just trying to help… that’s all. Sorry if I came off as a little overbearing.”

Andy sounded apologetic and a little sheepish. Rafa could only grin sadly and focus on not bumping into anyone on the street. Three minutes to Roger’s house now.

“It’s alright Andy, is all fine. I just need… I needed time.”

Andy seemed satisfied with this response. But there was still some overhanging uncertainty in his voice at his next remark.

“You haven’t said anything… to anyone. They’re… everyone’s worried, Rafa. That, that Sergiy Stakhovsky,” 

Andy uttered the name with pure loathing and unadulterated resentment. 

“He went and told the goddamn press everything. He told them everything! How does he even know? And… and he told about us, me and Serena, because apparently that was all his doing too. All these players are coming up to me, trying to talk to me… the press here in Austin has been a nightmare. It’s the same for Serena on the west coast. This is a nightmare. For everyone involved.” 

Rafa shivered miserably. Why was the world against them? Why did Sergiy Stakhovsky want to ruin their lives so badly… no, he knew why. But how? How could he do this? Without… without any moral capacity? The answer was beyond Rafa. 

What even was Stakhovsky doing now, that he had gotten what he wanted? Rafa shook his head sadly. Andy seemed to read his mind though, and answered the unasked question with a hint of amusement and satisfaction in his voice. 

“They caught him, by the way, for sneaking into the Wimbledon locker room. He said too much at a press conference and they banned him from the tour for a bit. What’s more, he may have given a hissy fit and embarrassed himself in front of the world so there’s that I guess.” 

Andy laughed humorlessly. Rafa only sighed sadly.

“None of this would have happened if we hadn’t done what we did in that locker room.”

It came out of his mouth faster than he could process exactly what he was saying. 

“What?! What do you… what are you saying, Rafa?” 

Andy sounded in disbelief. Rafa guiltily lowered his head. Two minutes to Roger’s house. 

“Maybe it was a mistake.” 

Maybe what he just said was a mistake, considering the incredulous sputtering noises coming from Andy’s end of the line.

“What the hell do you think you’re saying Rafa?! A relationship of ten years is not a mistake! I can assure you that. What… what made you get that idea?!” 

Rafa started picking at his phone case again. It was a bad habit. 

“Everything, Andy. Everything is making me say that.”

Rafa’s tone was dismal. This was the truth, whether he liked it or not. 

Andy didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then he finally responded.

“Rafa, you love Roger. I know this, Serena knows this, Roger sure as hell knows this, and now the rest of the world does too. Are you really going to let the truth stop you from believing in your love? Are you really going to let Stakhovsky succeed and break you both? He may be gone for now from the tour, but he is never really gone. This whole situation is a Sergiy Stakhovsky, but we cannot let him devour us whole, Rafa. We can’t give him the satisfaction. You need to fight for Roger. Please. Don’t give up now. He has match points. Don’t you dare give them to him Rafa. Please.”

By the end of Andy’s speech, his voice was desperate and determined to prove his point. Sure, Rafa had winced inwardly at the tennis analogy, but it wasn’t an ill-placed one. 

This was… true. Stakhovsky did have match points. Was Rafa really going to hand the match over? Now? Rafa’s eyes hardened and his free hand formed a fist. He shook his head. Never. Andy was right. Rafa loved Roger, and their love was worth this. It was worth all of this. 

“You… you are right, Andy.” 

Rafa smiled determinedly. He could hear Andy relax and the relief could be heard in his voice.

“I guess I am, huh?” 

He laughed softly. 

“You’re going to talk to Roger soon, right?” 

Just at that moment, Rafa checked the directions again. He was one minute away from Roger.

“Soon, yes.” 

Rafa held back a snicker. Andy had no idea where he was going right now.

“You… you mean soon as in ‘soon, soon’? Or just like, ‘soon’? You *need* to talk to him at some point! You can’t just, hold it off anymore. Come on! It’s like I said, Raf, fight for him! Laugh in the face of oppression! Laugh in the face of Stakhovsky! Show the world that you are Rafael Nadal and you mean…”

Rafa blocked the rest of Andy’s battle cry out. He had arrived at the door of Roger’s house in the Wimbledon village. He gulped. Did he dare ring the doorbell? Or would his feet betray his heart, and he’d run away? 

Rafa shook himself out of his trance. Then he turned his attention back to Andy who was still rambling on about legacy or something or other. Rafa laughed amusedly.

“Look, Andy, is nice speech. Really. I appreciate it. I need to go now, though.” 

Andy finally paused and scowled. 

“I wasn’t done by the way… what’s so important that my words of wisdom have to wait?”

Rafa shook his head and smiled.

“I’m at the door of Roger’s house in London right now. I don’t think Roger would appreciate me trying to talk to two people at once, no?” 

Rafa burst into giggles again. 

“What?!” 

The spaniard’s last few words caught Andy off guard. 

“You… you’re already there?! Oh. Oh! I… I’ll go now.” 

Rafa stopped his laughing momentarily to bid farewell to his amusing, and quite frankly sentimental, friend.

“Bye now, Andy.”

“Bye Rafa. Take care.”

Rafa smiled contentedly, hung up, and turned his attention to the next obstacle. 

The tall, intimidating, wooden door nearly scared Rafa away. But he needed to do this. To prove to himself that he wouldn’t give in to Stakhovsky’s plan, and to prove to Roger that their love would withstand any oppression.

In a moment of impulsive decision making, Rafa dang the doorbell. It only took five eternal seconds for Roger to open the door and come face to face with Rafa. 

It hadn’t been long since they had seen each other, but there had certainly been a lot going on, and they had a lot to discuss. They weren’t about to give up. 

Not now, not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love a good Andy-Rafa convo! They’re one of my favorite tennis pal duos... Tomorrow there will definitely be a conversation between Rafa and Roger. I promise there won’t be any “Rafa walking through the doorway” transitions that take a thousand words and a phone call from a random figure in his life. The next chapter is all Fedal. Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos make my day, and I really appreciate the feedback! The next chapter that one hundred percent has a fedal interaction will be up tomorrow!


	16. A Confession Conference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a fedal reunion awaits! In this chapter, Rafa and Roger will finally get to speak to each other about what happened. I hope you all like it! It was definitely one of my favorites to write!

Roger didn’t have to check through the window at the side of the door to see who had rung the bell. Without an ounce of hesitation, he had rushed down the stairs and flung open the door only to stop abruptly in the presence of Rafa Nadal.

Roger had been playing out a reasonable conversation in his head. But now, seeing Rafa, he was speechless. Any plans from before were forgotten, as he awkwardly gestured for Rafa to enter. Seeing his discomfort, Roger quickly broke the silence with an explanation as to why it was there in the first place.

“Mirka took the kids out to sightsee for the day. I’m sure they’ve already seen it all, but we both thought the kids could use a distraction.” 

Roger didn’t add the part where Mirka said that she could’ve used the distraction too, and was eager to get away from the self destructing mess of her husband. The part he did let out though, seemed to ease Rafa’s tense stance a little bit, before a look of overwhelming guilt came across his face.

Rafa opened his mouth to speak, and Roger knowing Rafa, he knew that he was about to apologize for something that wasn’t his fault. Roger interjected before he could say anything. 

“This news is hard for her to wrap her head around, Rafa. She won’t forgive easily, she’s not that kind of person. I admire her for that. But she said that she will support us, and I think we should just leave our thoughts there. Don’t you think?”

At that, Rafa smiled sadly.

“I… I guess so, Roger.”

The house became dead silent again, and the lack of noise was making Roger uneasy. Silence meant thinking. And thinking meant second thoughts. And second thoughts meant leaving. And leaving meant being all alone again. Roger couldn’t have that. 

Just as Roger was about to chime into their lively conversation with a comment about the weather they’d been having, Rafa thought of something contributing to say.

“You haven’t wrote… written a statement yet, no?” 

Roger shook his head sadly.

“No. I haven’t. I’m really sorry Rafa. I just… I don’t know what to say. What does one say in a situation like this?” 

Roger paused and looked at Rafa. It was a genuine question that Rafa didn’t have an answer to. Rafa shrugged his shoulders helplessly. Roger continued. 

“They’ll just hate me no matter what I do. If I do actually write something, it probably won’t be very heartfelt and that will just turn this whole mess into some sort of monotonous soap opera. If I do actually manage to come up with something deeply personal, everyone will take everything the wrong way and we’ll probably end up with therapists or something. If I don’t say anything at all… they’ll hate me for being the ever-neutral ‘no comment’ guy, even when it comes to my own damn issues!” 

Roger’s face was red and his voice ever so hopeless. 

“It’s just not fair, Rafa. No one’s ever had to do this before. We’re the first. The path before us is unprecedented. There really shouldn’t be any way to screw this up, but there are millions of them. Why did we have to be first?” 

Rafa looked down sadly. This wasn’t going well at all. Everything they had brought up so far had only dug them deeper and deeper into a pit of despair. Even when it seemed the couldn’t dive any further, the ground kept giving way. It was endless.

“We cannot mess up what never happen, Rogi,” 

Rafa started, using an old nickname he gave Roger back when they were young and oblivious. Roger looked up to him at that, and smiled wistfully. 

“We can only make up the right way as we go.” 

Roger looked at him thoughtfully after that. 

“You know the press think they do know what the right thing is to do in these situations. They’ll judge us for every move we make from now on.” 

Then it was Rafa’s turn to look deep in thought.

“Is true, but also no. Because nobody know. And nobody judge us for something that is our own.” 

Rafa looked at Roger with a watery smile. He reached out his hand and held tight to Roger’s. Roger’s fingers entwined with his own, and they pulled their bodies closer. 

There was just something so right, about the way his and Roger’s hands just fit together. There was something so enthralling about the way their breath tangled together to create one. There was something so mesmerizing about the way Rafa eyes stared deep into his own, and the hues melted together until separation was just an antonym for their love, and a figment of a pessimist’s wildest imagination. 

Roger broke eye contact to look to their entwined fingers. He lifted them up.

“This… this is our own?” 

The words got caught in his throat, and it came out in a hoarse whisper. Rafa’s eyes softened even more, if possible.

“It is all our own. No one else’s.” 

Roger looked down sadly.

“Not even… now?” 

His voice was full of regret. His head was down, his eyes trained on the floor. Rafa kissed his forehead softly. Roger looked up at him with a small smile.

“Not even now,” Rafa answered.

“What will we do… about the press?” 

The question would not leave Roger’s mind until it was properly addressed. Rafa shrugged again, but this time with more optimism.

“I don’t know. I just know we do it together for sure. We do a statement, together. It’d work better, no?” 

He scanned Roger’s face for a reaction. It lit up, not brightly, but a difference was evident.

“Like… like a press conference,” he added softly. “We can explain to everyone. Together. In a press conference.” 

Rafa smiled warmly.

“I like that idea.” 

But then Roger frowned again.

“You don’t think… maybe after we say something, things will go back to normal? Or… or is that a stupid thought.”

Rafa shook his head sadly.

“It will never be the normal from before. Not now, not in ten years. But it will become a new normal. Things will become easier. Easier is coming with time.”

At that, Roger slowly nodded. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. People are bound to loosen their grip at some point, right? They just need help. A catalyst. A reactor. A motivational action.”

“Our press conference,” Rafa added. 

“Exactly,” Roger agreed. “And after we explain ourselves, we just go back to playing tennis like we always do. Because why else would we be doing this is the first place?” 

Rafa sighed sadly.

“They should really only care about the tennis,” he mumbled begrudgingly.

“But they don’t. They should, but they don’t,” Roger chimed in sadly. “That’s why we even have to be worrying about this in the first place.” 

Rafa nodded silently.

“We gonna tell them everything, Rogi?” He asked quietly. 

Roger could tell the question had been in the back of his mind for a while, the way his posture relaxed slightly after asking. Roger considered the question for a second before answering carefully.

“Well… no. We’ll tell them what they need to know, which is little to nothing, which is enough. They’ll be happy to even get something gossipy enough. We’ll just explain what these past ten years have been for us, and leave.” 

Roger smiled contentedly before tightening his grip on Rafa’s hand. 

“It’s like you said: all ours.” 

Rafa had to smile at that too. Then his expression turned serious and his eyes stared right into Roger’s. 

“Is… there is something I want to say, for a long while now. I not know what you think, so I don’t say it. But now… I must.” 

Roger’s expression from suspicion to curiosity to disbelief as Rafa uttered those three telltale words.

“I love you.” 

Roger shook his head slowly, his eyes widening. 

“I love you, Rogi. I really do.” 

Rafa smiled nervously as he desperately searched Roger’s face for a positive or negative reaction. After the initial shock wore away, the meaning of Rafa’s words found their way to Roger’s heart and it started beating at triple the normal rate. Tears formed in his eyes and his throat started closing up as he responded to Rafa’s confession.

“I love you too, Rafa.” 

In an alternate universe where time had found its way back to Wimbledon 2008, two young tennis players just shared their first kiss. In the world of reality now, those two now older tennis players were sharing their first kiss since their declaration of love. They had a long road ahead of them, to closure, but it was certainly worth it if it was for more moments like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fluff was inevitable. I had to. 
> 
> Well anyways, I hope you all liked this chapter! The next one (featuring I don’t know what) will be up tomorrow! Comments and kudos are one hundred percent welcome as always!


	17. Battles of Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the chapter, I've written a Mirka-Roger exchange. They're both trying to move forward, but it can be difficult. Luckily they are taking steps in the right direction! I hope you like this chapter. It is a little shorter, but I hope it delivers!

Rafa had left several hours ago, yet Roger couldn't stop thinking about their exchange. His life had changed so drastically in the past couple days… it was hard to believe anything good would come out of any of it. Rafa had changed Roger's mind. 

That evening when Mirka arrived home with four very exhausted children, she noticed the suddenly present smile on his face and acknowledged it.

“Roger… is everything alright?”

After the quizzical look he gave her, she tried again. 

“I mean… did something happen? Today? You… you're smiling.”

As she said the words, Mirka smiled a bit too. She looked relieved, albeit a little curious. Roger shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

“I… I was talking to Rafa.” 

Mirka’s eyes darkened a little, but Roger persisted. 

“I told him to come, Mirka. So we could talk.”

She nodded slowly, he could see her mind struggling to stay open. She tried, she really did. And sometimes, she even managed to selflessly support Roger in his hopeless battles. Like now, as she smiled at him encouragingly.

“That's good. It means… you're making progress” 

Roger nodded along with her, before continuing.

“We… we made a plan. For how we're telling the media.” 

He glanced at Mirka for a reaction. She studied him and listened intently. 

“We're going to hold a press conference,” he swallowed, “together.” 

Mirka looked conflicted for a second, before smiling tightly.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay?” Roger repeated after her. 

Was that all she has to say about it?

“‘Okay’ as in, I'm glad you guys are finally working something out, instead of moping around all day. It's a good sign. Really.” 

She looked away for a second, first training her eyes on Roger’s shoes, then the birch tree outside the window, then the painting of Lake Zurich on the wall, before finally looking back at him. 

Roger studied her, inquisitively.

“Are you… sure about this, Mirka? Does it make sense what we are trying to do? You don't seem… all that convinced.” 

She smiled at him apologetically.

“Sorry. I guess that's because I'm not.” 

She shrugged her shoulders. Roger cocked his head.

“You're… not? Is it not a good idea? Bad timing? Wrong attendance? Why is this a bad thing? We're trying to be open. What's wrong with a press conference?” 

His exasperated tone bordered on annoyance. Mirka scoffed.

“Now you're trying to be all defensive? I don't like your plan, so what? You asked me what I thought, and I told you I'm not convinced. Then you start firing questions at me as if it's all my fault.” 

She crossed her arms and glowered at him. 

“Well it's not,” she continued. 

“No, I don't think your plan is going to work. A press conference? Really? They'll eat you two alive. You can't just feed yourselves to the wolves like that. They attacked Stakhovsky at his press conference when he shouldn't have had to worry, so they'll completely destroy you. What could have possibly made you believe that this would work?”

Mirka stared at Roger incredulously. Roger took a deep breath, and looked right into her eyes. He really hoped she wouldn't hate him too much for what he was about to say. Hell, maybe she'd even understand. But it needed to be said regardless, and now was the time if he was ever going to prove his point. 

“He told me he loved me, okay?” 

Roger braced for impact. He squeezed his eyes shut and his head slunk between his shoulders. He had no idea as to how she'd react. None. She might blow up and start yelling. Or maybe she'd start laughing at him. Or maybe she'd start crying. Or maybe she'd… there was nothing. Nothing. 

Mirka’s stare was wordless, expressionless. He couldn't look at her anymore, he just couldn't. Roger stared at his shoes. This was almost unbearable. 

“I told him…” he swallowed dryly, “I told him that I loved him too.” 

He looked back up at Mirka with tears in his eyes. She only looked back with a completely guarded expression. Then she shook her head, barely, but Roger could see the earrings in her ears move back and forth, indicating the movement. Then, she had tears in her eyes too. 

Her expression broke down and Roger could see the immense sadness in her eyes. But along with that, he saw a small flicker of light in her pupils. He could see the reflections from the window dancing there. He could see the way her lips were drawn, tightly, but slightly curved upwards. She sighed shakily which turned into a half sob, half laugh. 

Roger watched her, alarmed and a little shocked at the millions of emotions that had given way in that one moment of time. 

“...Mirka?” He started cautiously. “Are you… are you alright?” 

At first she nodded, then she shook her head, then she nodded again. Then she stared at the ground helplessly.

“Look, what you did these past ten years was not okay. I know this. You know this. But… seeing you happy… seeing you in a relationship where you truly love each other, it makes me feel a little better about it all.” 

She gave a watery smile. The statement left the bitter taste of guilt in Roger’s mouth. When he turned to speak though, she continued. 

“You don't have to say you're sorry a million times you know, I understand. And I guess that means I can also understand that when you are truly in love with someone, no press conference can ever rip it apart.”

She sniffed one last time. 

“I really hope that this is true, when you guys give your press conference.”

She smiled softly, acceptingly. Roger’s eyes softened, and he reached out for Mirka’s hand wordlessly before giving it a squeeze. Then they fell into another hug. But this time, they were both smiling. 

The future ahead may be uncertain, but support and love were two powerful things that could tackle any press conferences that came their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said earlier, this one was a little shorter, but also key to the story. It was just one of those unskippable moments. I hope you all liked it! The next chapter (hopefully with Rafa in it) will be up tomorrow! Comments and kudos are amazing if you felt like doing either! That's all for now...


	18. Input, Output

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the chapter, Rafa and Roger gathered their teams together to discuss the next steps. There’s a bit of Uncle Toni in this one, and he’s always a fun character to write for. I hope you all like this chapter! It’s definitely an important one!

The next day, Roger and Rafa gathered both of their teams together to propose their idea. They had no idea how anyone would react, but Mirka’s backing encouraged them to believe that maybe this would all work out after all.

Rafa had to practically beg Toni to come up from Spain, but everyone else was already in London. The thought of actually leaving was foreign to them. What would they do with all their time spent alone? How would they even travel there remotely hidden? It was all a complicated maze that couldn’t be navigated at the moment. What they had worry about now, was how everyone would react to their idea.

Roger knew that many sponsorships were on the line. He knew that everyone was growing impatient. He knew they couldn’t hold this off any longer. They had to hold this press conference now. Any other time would be too late. But to even start thinking about what on earth they were supposed to say, they had to worry about approval first. 

————————

Rafa shifted uncomfortably on the leather couch at Roger’s house. He studied the many familiar faces surrounding him with uncertainty. Suddenly feeling very small, he snuggled up a little closer to Roger who then draped his arm across Rafa’s shoulders reassuringly.

They turned to look at each other. Then they shared a look that showed acceptance and ’here we go’ mentality. Maybe even “just do it”, but Nike only sponsored one half of the pair now so that was unlikely. 

Roger spoke first to the amused and severely curious spectators before him. Mirka smiled encouragingly. He took a deep breath, before starting.

“There have been some… questions as to when I, when we, would release public statements about, um, everything that… happened.” 

This was bad. Roger had barely started, and his speech was obliterating right before his eyes, or, ears. Nevertheless, out of other options, he persisted. 

“We know that the media and public have been… eager… for some sort of news on the matter. This is a… change for them and, uh, they deserve to know the truth.” 

Roger looked down, before turning back to Rafa and nodding softly. Then Rafa picked up where Roger left off.

“That… that is why we decided it could be a good, it would be good if we just… told the reporters. In a… press conference.” 

He swallowed nervously. The tension in the room was nearly tangible. 

“Together.” 

Then silence reigned over the spacious living room of the Federer London Residence. 

It was Toni, no surprise there, who eventually broke the iciness of the mute atmosphere with some firepower of his own.

“Are you crazy?!” Was his starting line. This should be fun.

Rafa braced for the hurricane racing his way. It arrived right on schedule. 

“You two must be out of your minds! Now, I don’t know what the hell success has done to your brain, Federer, but how could you two actually believe this could work?!”

The exchanges were all in English, so unfortunately Roger could completely comprehend the former coach’s words. Roger shrunk in his seat defeatedly. It was expected that Toni would still be somewhat cold to his nephew’s rival, but somehow it had been a bit of a surprise to Roger. He remained silent where he was. 

It was Rafa who got up defensively. He glared at his uncle. Toni stared back at him. The expression on his face uncannily resembled amusement. Oh, amusement? Was this situation amusing to him? Rafa shook his head angrily. 

“Toni! You can’t just… you can’t say it like that!” 

This was all too much for Rafa right now… maybe they should just cancel this. Maybe he could just hide out in his room for the rest of his life. Rafa shook his head mentally. As tempting as that sounded, he had an obligation to the world. He had an obligation to Roger. He even had an obligation to his uncle who was being a real pain at the moment. 

Toni scowled at Rafa’s words.

“Why not? Huh? We are allowed to contradict, are we not?” 

He crossed his arms. Rafa hesitated, then slowly, reluctantly, nodded. He sat down, tiredly, and prepared to try his hardest to not take any of Toni’s statements too personally. Even if this was a personal matter. Toni sighed, and backed down. 

“I don’t want to come across as the pessimist here,”

Roger saw Mirka roll her eyes. He smiled internally, despite the current situation. Toni continued, unaware.

“But I’m worried. Press conferences, more often than not, end in complete disaster. And in an unprecedented scenario like this, who knows what the reaction will be? I am not trying to shut you idea down. I am just… worried, that’s all. I don’t want anything bad to happen to either of you. I just couldn't bear to…” 

Toni studied the shocked faces before him. His expression hardened too quickly to be truly believed. 

“I couldn’t bear to have your careers destroyed. Or, to lose sponsors. And… all the money aspects.” He added gruffly, because it was physically impossible for Toni to be a kind, caring person for too long.

Any acts of sincerity were rarities enough. This was an event typically recorded in the history books. But there were no able scribes present, so the tears in Toni’s eyes that he was currently frustratingly wiping at, were to be kept alive in the minds of the witnesses.

At the admission, Toni relaxed into his seat and stared at the floor. Rafa and Roger stared at him incredulously. 

“You wanted to… protect us?” 

Rafa managed to get out in his shocked state. It was Toni’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Something like that…” he mumbled nearly incomprehensibly. 

Roger shook his head disbelievingly, but he could tell Toni was growing uncomfortable and he didn’t want to push it. Openly, he turned to everyone else in the room. 

“Does, um, anyone else have any input?” 

His eyes settled on Tony Godsick, his agent, who nodded at him shortly. 

“Do you know what you would hypothetically tell these people? Any ideas… at all?” 

There was skepticism in his voice, but also curiosity. The curiosity was a good sign, at least. But… what *were* they going to say? Roger drew in a deep breath, then he exhaled it tiredly. He had no idea. Rafa voiced this concern.

“There are… we have no ideas, Tony. We are not telling them everything, no. But we still tell them… some things. But what? We don’t know.”

He looked at Roger sadly. Roger looked back with a mirrored expression. Tony sighed.

“I suspected this,” he concluded after a few thoughtful moments.

“I think we should take a conservative, clipped approach. You two shouldn’t have to say too much. It never said in any rulebook that you had to say anything at all. This more an unspoken rule of explanation. Don’t get into messy details. We don’t need to… explain Mirka or Xisca, unless they specifically ask. And if they do, just, keep it as vague as possible. If they ask about your sponsors, you only need to tell them who is staying on board and who’s on the edge. No more, no less. I don’t think there’s anything else. Just… try not to ruin anything, okay?” 

He smiled tightly at Rafa and Roger. 

Roger laughed humorlessly after comprehending all the tips and terms for their conference. 

“Tony, we already have.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There were a few uneasy laughs around the room, but the overall atmosphere was chilled. Now that the initial proposal of a press conference was slowly becoming reality, the mood sombered dramatically. Rafa inhaled sharply.

“So… this is our plan?”

He turned to Tony, who nodded affirmatively at him.

“If you so choose.” He answered.

Rafa turned to Roger. 

“Does it seem like it would work?” 

He whispered slowly. Roger smiled thoughtfully. 

“Hopefully Rafa, hopefully.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now they have a plan! Kind of... but like Toni said, nothing like this has ever happened before, so who knows what will happen? Alright, as always, thanks for reading! If you have any feedback, comments are always a good way to share! Chapter 19 will be up tomorrow!


	19. Media Makes Haste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I kinda explored the media’s approach to all of this. If it comes off as kinda sarcastic, that’s because it is. The press conferences I’ve watched have been... amusing. I thought I’d try to capture their approach to everything. I hope you all like it!

It was approximately 2:37 pm Eastern Standard Time when the media world exploded for a second time that week. A statement! There was a statement! There was a statement from Federer *and* Nadal! 

Reporters were reeling in excitement in their press rooms and offices. They had spoken at last, it had seemed. Their silence had been rather annoying. There were so many questions… Now, it would seem that they are finally making an attempt to connect with the outside world. 

When their eyes scanned over the words, when people whispered urgently in their ears, the words: ‘press conference’ and ‘together’ immediately caused their eyes to light up and their smile set into predatory grins. There were sighs of relief and exuberant cheers. 

To any sane human being, they would look completely mad, and would be silenced immediately. But ever since news of Federer and Nadal being a couple broke out, no one had been sane. No one was in their right mind to put a stop to any of this. 

So the reporters gleefully arranged their poking and prodding questions on their index cards slightly stained with coffee and on their phones in the notes app that they hardly ever used. In their defense, nothing exciting ever happened. Ever. Honestly, why did they even decide to be tennis reporters? Oh yeah, football wouldn’t have them… tennis would have to do. 

Some of the reporters could probably admit that they’d never watched a match in full before. Their greatest skill? Being the most interrogative, nosy human beings to ever set foot on planet earth. 

They took great pride in this, and tried their hardest to make things a little more interesting. Because, come on, tennis? Boring. A player’s personal life and family ties? Why not? Because this was a ‘gentleman’s sport’ and there weren’t going to be any fistfights in the locker room. At least… none they were aware of. Someone should… look up on that later.

And even if nothing interesting was ever said (Say, if the player is experienced and totally on to them), they make it work. Using an example from earlier in the year, Rafael Nadal (the same Nadal who’s in *love* with Federer) said he would be crazy to want to play Federer in the finals. He said it was only common sense that he’d want to play against an easier opponent in order to win. 

The press tore that apart. It was one of their greatest moments, turning it into ‘Nadal doesn’t want to play against Federer in Wimbledon Final. The 2008 Final meant nothing to him.’ Who cares if it was true or not? It was interesting. 

Tennis needed these… dramatic moments. It was their job, and they were glad to help. Now, they had been gifted true gold. Federer and Nadal, the sport’s most popular and talented rivals, had been caught in the middle of their own love affair. This wasn’t expected… anywhere.

When this nobody Ukrainian came to them saying he had a video they just might want to see, they didn’t take him too seriously. After it had finished, there was little time to react. Within the next two minutes, the video was all over the news. 

It was amazing. Finally, something exciting was happening! An affair. An affair where there were wives and girlfriends involved… a ten year affair! 

The press couldn’t wait to get their hands on the pair. Their eagerness was met with silence. Complete silence. Anticlimactic silence. It was an embarrassing silence at that. You cannot be serious… the public want answers! How were the press supposed to give them their warped and overdramatized answers if the two lovebirds had ran off into hiding? 

For a whole agonizing week they waited. For seven days there was nothing. Then, Monday morning, the good news arrived. 

Carlos Costa, Nadal’s agent and former top ten player, sent a document to one regular reporter containing statements from both Federer and Nadal on their current states and how they were planning to address the matters at hand. That reporter then sent it to every reporter in the country. Then, before you knew it, the whole world knew about the press conference that Federer and Nadal would be holding together in London a week from the date. 

This was the greatest news they’d heard since… well… since news of their affair had broken out. They were getting a whole press conference! They could ask all the questions they wanted. They could get all the questions they wanted. They were going to be rich!

This almost made up for the long ‘off the grid’ disappearance. Almost. People were getting impatient, and there was nothing to tell them. All they could do during that week was bring up old photos from old tournaments and reflect on how ‘oh yeah, they do actually look in love in this one’. There were lots of those. More than they’d like to admit. But now, there would be new content.

Who knows what Federer and Nadal were going to say at this little press conference? Did they even have a plan? If not, the press will eat them up alive. If so, the press will still eat them up alive. They’ve been starved, they’re hungry. 

Now they would finally get what they wanted. It wasn’t so much a question of if the press was ready for Federer and Nadal. It was more of if Federer and Nadal were ready for press. 

Well, they’d still need to write their questions, but you get the idea. These were the moments that every reporter prepared for their entire life. All those days of asking players what type of surface they preferred and why, they were over. Okay fine, they weren’t over. But now there was definitely an expansion beyond the repetitive dullness of those pressers. Now they got their very own juicy drama. They could do with it as they so choose.

There had never been much glee in media rooms before Sergiy Stakhovsky dropped them a visit. They really owed him one.

He was thanked, in a way, by being exposed for breaking and entering into the Wimbledon locker room. You’re welcome, Stakhovsky. Does that mean that all this information has been obtained illegally? Maybe. But it was too late to care now. Now they were about to be witnesses to one of the most awkward press conferences in the history of tennis. 

This should be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the press could be a whole character of its own, sometimes. I hope you liked this chapter! The next one will be up tomorrow. Comments and kudos are totally welcome, if you have some feedback on this chapter or any previous ones. Also, Roger is playing in Shanghai really soon and I just want to wish him good luck. If he wins, that will be amazing, but also I’m really just hoping that Novak and Delpo stay at 3rd and 4th in the rankings and leave fedal alone. So yeah fingers crossed on that! :)


	20. To End All Pressers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda the pre-press conference calm before the storm. Lots of fedal. Some Tony Godsick. Always the press. I hope you all like it!
> 
> Also Roger won his first match in Shanghai this morning so I mean at least there’s that?

Today was the day. The date was November 30, 2018. It had been almost two weeks since news of Federer and Nadal’s relationship became a public affair. Instead of dying down, the world grew louder and louder, until something was bound to give way. And that something did. Federer and Nadal were going to host a live press conference together. This could not end well. 

Their agents had broken the prolonged silence with a schedule that offered a time and date for all the reporters in London who so chose (all of them) to attend a live press conference. It was too good to be true. Well, so was Federer and Nadal’s relationship but here they were… Needless to say, the invite was graciously taken up on, and they all promised they would make it. This was the event of a lifetime. It couldn’t be missed. It just couldn’t. 

You had dinner reservations or tickets to a show? Too bad! Your daughter’s getting married or your son’s celebrating his eighteenth birthday? Reschedule it! This was a press conference unlike any other. It could not be missed for anything. This was top priority above all else. Federer and Nadal could take pride in this, at least. Nothing was in vain, if the press had anything to say about it.

————————————

The infamous presser was being held in the largest media room at the O2 Arena in London. This was were the tour finals had been played, a mere two weeks ago. It felt like two lifetimes ago to Roger, who nervously paced back and forth down one of the many hallways that made up the channels between rooms in the arena.

He paused in his tracks to smile unsurely at Rafa, who was sitting down in a plastic chair. His knees were bouncing up and down and he had that trance-like pre-match look on his face. He snapped out of it, momentarily, to smile nervously back. 

Two weeks ago they had been playing tennis. Together. Two weeks ago, tennis was what defined them. Now… well, now was different. Yes, there was still a battle taking place. But a battle of tennis? Not quite. It was more of an abstract battle, against the press. It was as much a battle as it was an uphill climb with a slippery slope. It was almost too easy to lose your footing. And even if you didn’t, the press would find a way to trip you anyways.

Roger had always been so good at dealing with these people. He had been applauded for the ways he brushed vaguely over the intrusive questions and still found ways to be entertaining and charming to pretty much every audience. Was it a gift? Or a hard earned skill? 

Whatever it was, Roger took pride in it. It was definitely a useful ace to have up your sleeve when you’re suddenly asked a question that has absolutely nothing to do with tennis. 

But now… what was Roger even supposed to say to these people? Well, technically, he and Rafa did have a written statement that they had written along with their team. They had spent the last three days tailoring it to near perfection. The words were all typed neatly and printed onto two separate papers. One was in Roger’s hand. The other was in Rafa’s. 

Roger unclenched his right fist and held the now creased paper up. These words… they were useless, weren’t they? What good would an innocent piece of paper be against a room full of starving journalists. All of this was pointless, really. What were they thinking? This was *definitely* a bad idea. 

Roger turned to Rafa and voiced his concerns that were pretty concerning to be having now, when it was a little too late to back out and get as far away as possible from this building.

“We’re not ready Rafa,” he whispered breathlessly and urgently.

“We aren’t. This is too soon. We can’t do this… now. Not now. They’ll destroy us, Rafa! We can’t just… walk out there! Not after what’s happened. We can’t.” 

There was a desperate, raw edge to his voice that scarcely ever showed itself. But these were desperate times, and it seems that desperate measures had been called upon. Now all Roger could do was face reality. What else could he do? 

They were about to enter a room with nearly fifty reporters occupying its space. He could hear them all, having their animated conversations. Tony had told him that at least a hundred had to be turned away because there simply wasn’t enough space. All the standing room had been filled as well. This was insanity. Rafa shook his head sadly.

“Is too late now, Rogi.” He sighed dismally and continued. “There is never gonna be a ‘ready’. Never. We need to do this now. If we did not have to, we don’t. But we must, so we do.” 

He smiled sadly at Roger. Then he stood up and confidently reached for Roger’s vacant hand. He grabbed it and held their interlocked fingers up so Roger could see. Roger smiled back, faintly.

“All ours,” he whispered softly. 

Rafa’s grin widened and he looked determinedly into Roger’s eyes. 

“We do this together. It no matter if they to break us. They cannot. They are the press, they can say all the things they want to say but they cannot do anything. We can do anything. We can explain, and they can understand. That’s why we’re here, Rogi. To explain, not to defend.” 

After a moment of thoughtful silence, Roger nodded confidently. There was a peace in his eyes now, that wasn’t there one minute previous. He smiled at Rafa surely.

“Y-Yeah,” his voice started off shakily, “I… that’s true. Rafa, you’re right. You are. We are telling them and… we have to do this, huh? We could run away, right now, and go live in some cave for the rest of our lives. I don’t think there are reporters in caves… right?”

Roger made another attempt, half hearted this time, to escape their public responsibilities. Rafa could tell he wasn’t being completely serious by the now confident smile on his face. Rafa rolled his eyes, welcome to the distraction. 

“No, the reporters are in the caves too. It won’t work.” 

Rafa smiled cheekily and landed a quick kiss on Roger’s lips. They giggled together for two seconds, before a deathly nervous Tony Godsick approached them. 

They turned to face him. He stared at them, incredulously.

“You… you’re really laughing? In a time like this? You can’t be serious…” 

Rafa and Roger looked down sheepishly. Tony shook his head before continuing in a far more serious tone. 

“The reporters are… they’re ready for you two now. If you could get down there in the next two minutes… that would be ideal. But, I understand if you still need time…” 

He glanced at the forgotten folded speeches in their hands. Tony continued. 

“Just… make sure to get down there as soon as possible okay? These people… they’re already restless.” 

He shook his head exasperatedly. Then his expression softened considerably. 

“Just be careful okay? Please. This isn’t going to be easy. I know you’ve heard this a million times already, just call me a million and one.” 

Tony smiled tightly. 

“I just want to wish you two good luck. Really. Good luck.”

Before Roger or Rafa could answer, Tony had sped down the hallway and out of sight. Roger shook his head and sighed. He turned to Rafa and tried his hardest to smile optimistically. It just came off as strained. He slumped his shoulders. 

“This was never going to be easy,” he started in a low, gravelly voice.

“Ever since we first kissed, we knew it would never be easy. We knew it would be a tough battle. But it was always worth it, because in the end it was always you and me and no one else. Always. This press conference is just proof that our love is worth a fight. We knew it would be this way, and we certainly can’t surrender now.” 

His eyes sparkled defiantly. Rafa’s matched them.

“I love you. No matter what happens, you know that right?” 

Roger smiled determinedly. Rafa shook his head sincerely.

“I know Rogi, I know. I love you too. No matter what happen. I love you, too.” 

Then they leaned in towards each other and kissed. It was longer, more passionate, more desperate, and more true. They had come to a fierce agreement that their love wouldn’t be abandoned for some sparkling public image. 

They pulled away slowly, more surely, and smiled at each other with genuine affection. They nodded at each other. It was time.

Hand in hand, they walked slowly down the hallway. They stopped at the doors to the oversized room where all fifty reporters were eagerly waiting to pounce. 

Rafa and Roger looked at each other in one final mic check. They studied each other’s faces carefully, before stealing one more kiss. 

“I’m ready if you are,” Roger prompted. 

“Vamos,” Rafa let out with a smile, before they opened door to the media room and stood in the doorway, hand in hand, staring at the sea of impatient faces before them. 

Was this room to be their legacy? At the current rate this day was going, it would certainly seem so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was definitely an interesting chapter to write. This is a hectic time, and I’m trying to fit everything in! If you have any feedback, a comment or kudo is much obliged! Chapter 21 will be up tomorrow. Also once again, good luck in round three Roger!


	21. Adventures in Improv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The press conference action begins! Questions are being asked and answered... and tensions are high. But hey, fedal right? 
> 
> Also Roger is still winning in Shanghai and that is something I am eternally grateful for.
> 
> Hope you all like this chapter!

Rafa and Roger entered the media room that could definitely double as an auditorium. All previous conversations amongst the numerous reporters had ceased to exist. Fifty pairs of eyes watched Rafa and Roger, like hawks locking their sights on vulnerable mice, as they made their way up to the elevated desk overlooking them all. 

The room was dead silent as they awkwardly fumbled with their chairs before finally sitting down, and studying the room before them nervously. The reporters stared back, expectantly, impatiently, hungrily. 

Rafa retreated into himself at the sight before them, and turned to Roger unsurely. Roger closed his eyes tight and took a deep breath. He opened them and looked at Rafa with all the encouragement one could muster in their present situation. 

He nodded his head, quickly, shortly, before smiling softly. This wasn’t going to be easy. All they could do to help their cause was to stay positive and remain afloat in this vast ocean of accusation that was rushing their way. 

In their final moment of assurance, they made the first move. They motioned to the supervisor to begin. There was no turning back now.

Almost immediately and completely simultaneously, fifty reporters raised fifty hands into the air. Roger saw Rafa’s expression paling, and sensed his own too. 

Hesitantly, Roger nodded at the most seemingly innocent one. Picking out a seemingly innocent reporter amongst these people was basically like picking out the tallest giraffe. They were all basically the same. There were no innocent reporters here. 

The woman they had chosen had intricately braided hair and hoop earrings. When she realized she been chosen, she looked up in shock. Then she turned down to look at her notes that were written in a notebook that, Roger observed, still had the price sticker on it. 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, this was a grave matter after all, and the urge would definitely go away after her question was asked. Whatever it was. When she seemed ready, she looked up and asked her question in a pronounced British accent. The excitement in her voice was not contained.

“Mr. Federer, Mr. Nadal, just… what I mean to say is… how? How did this happen? There has to be an explanation for all this… you have an explanation. Tell us.” 

She looked at them quizzically and tapped her index finger on the wooden table she was sitting at. Roger had known this question was coming. It had been one of many that he and Rafa had prepared scripted responses to. Not skipping a beat, Rafa had already found their answer on his paper and answered the woman in his most cautious, level tone. 

“Roger and I, we first played in 2004. We first… kissed in 2008. We knew each for four years. There was just something different… about him. From the other guys. Something just Roger.” 

Roger turned to Rafa in alarm. That last part was *not* in the script. Rafa looked back at him, calmly. He smiled, and then continued his improv speech. 

“When I play against him, in those years, I knew there was something… special. And at Wimbledon, we talk about that special thing, and I learn that he feels this way too.”

Rafa smiled as his little story grew more and more confident. Roger could only stare wordlessly. 

“And we knew, we always knew, that we wanted to be together. So we did it. And we still do it. And nobody and nothing else matters because Roger and me… we love each other. This is something I can tell you all.” 

He concluded the off-road statement and turned to Roger. If there was a look that perfectly blended apologetic and non apologetic, Rafa had achieved it right there and then. 

Roger’s eyebrows furrowed worriedly, but his eyes softened. His heart betrayed his head and he smiled warmly at Rafa, trying his hardest to ignore the growing rumble from the room before them. They were definitely going to use this cute little quote in the articles they were conspiring to write. 

Roger resisted the urge to let nervousness conquer his features. He needed to stay strong. For Rafa, and for himself. There was no other way, if they wanted to get out of this presser alive.

The supervisor cleared his throat and called out: “Next question!” 

He had to nearly yell over all the noise. Dozens of hands went up again, and Rafa carefully chose one. 

The next reporter was a man, probably in his late thirties. He had been spinning his pencil around on his desk before, Roger had duly noted. After being called on, he scanned over a torn piece of paper before him before selecting his question, and asking it in a voice of high smugness concentration.

“So. Mr. Federer. Mr. Nadal. How do you two know that this… ‘attraction’,”  
the man put air quotes on the word. Roger had a bad taste in his mouth and looked down at the man agitatedly. The man continued, unwavered. “-isn’t just because of tennis?” 

He smiled, satisfied, at the two blank expressions before him. Roger shook his head. He knew what the man was saying, but he didn’t… he didn’t want to know. As a matter of stalling, he inquired.

“What do you mean by that?” 

He swallowed slowly. The man continued.

“What I mean by that is, how do you know that what you’re feeling is really love? You two are at the top of men’s tennis… how do you know it isn’t because of that? Maybe this is just a… tennis thing?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. Roger could feel Rafa tensing next to him. Roger took a deep breath, before answering. This question wasn’t even on their script. Another detour from their plan… this was going great. But this question… it punched him right in the gut. 

He really should have seen this coming, but he did not. It was just… this had never occurred to him. It honestly hadn’t. Now that he thought about it, as much as he hated to admit it, the question made sense. 

But what he had with Rafa, it went beyond tennis. It eclipsed everything in sight and became everything in sight. There was tennis, and there was Rafa. Tennis was Rafa, and Rafa was tennis. He loved both, and they were the same. But did he love Rafa away from tennis? Could he? If it was just the two of them, would things be different? 

It was a really intriguing question. It was. But the answer was within his reach. Could a world without Rafa in it be a worthy world to inhabit? Absolutely not. If Rafa’s kisses didn’t exist, if Rafa’s smile didn’t exist, if Rafa’s love didn’t exist… well what was the point? Roger had his answer. Smiling confidently, he turned to the reporter. 

“That was a good question. Really. But at the end of the day, it all boils down to Rafa and I. What we have for each other… it eclipses any head to head or atp ranking. Love is a valid and real feeling that you can feel for anyone. Regardless of if they’re you’re biggest rival. So to answer your question? No. This is not all about the tennis. This is about me and Rafa.” 

Roger turned to Rafa and smiled. Rafa smiled back and leaned in towards Roger, before remembering they were in the middle of a press conference and retreated. They shared one more reassuring look before turning to the supervisor and nodded.

“Next question!” 

He raised his voice again against the dull roar of the room. Roger shook his head amusedly. Forty-eight hands were raised into the air. He sighed tiredly, before choosing another reporter. They all looked the same at this point. There had only been two questions, but Roger was exhausted. This was the equivalent of a five setter at two am. 

But quality wise? Their performance so far has been pretty normal, which is always a good sign. 

So far so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a part one to a part two. As you can tell, this presser is far from over. The second half will be in tomorrow’s chapter! I hope you all enjoyed what I’ve written presser-wise so far. Feel free to leave a comment or kudo or hey maybe even both if you so wish! Chapter 22 tomorrow!


	22. Answers of Survival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... so this chapter took me awhile. It is very very late (or should I say way too early) on my side of the world, but I tried my best to write out a full chapter. It’s been a busy day, and I hope this chapter delivers! Press conference part two. Enjoy!

Rafa reached eagerly for the Evian brand complimentary water bottle that was a staple part of every press conference. This one was no different. Except that really, in reality, it was a complete contrast. 

Gone were those days of accidentally mispronouncing surface every single time the word was brought up. Now, these reporters were looking further, digging deeper, and trying to quench more extreme thirsts. 

Rafa uncapped the bottle swiftly and took a swig of water before reluctantly turning his attention back to the group of reporters before them. His shoulders slumped, discouraged. It had been nearly fifteen minutes since they had started. Not one of those fifteen minutes had been easy, much less enjoyable. 

He and Roger had to claw their way through each question. Sometimes their previously planned out scripts helped. But more often than not, they had to make things up on the spot. It was highly stressful. And still, they were nowhere near finished. 

They had promised the press at least thirty minutes, in their naïveté. If fifteen minutes had felt like a lifetime, then what would thirty feel like? A lifetime squared? 

All Rafa could do was try and answer all these complicatedly worded questions meant to trip him up, while simultaneously staring impatiently at the Rolex clock on the opposite wall. The minute hand was crawling along at the speed of negative ten. When this presser didn’t feel like an interrogation, it felt like an eternity. 

He sat up a little straighter, as Roger called on the next reporter. Rafa smiled tightly as the man called on proceeded to ask them his question. 

“Mr. Federer, Mr. Nadal, I’m curious. This exposure on your relationship came from a released video filmed by Mr. Sergiy Stakhovsky. It was recently found out that he had illegally acquired this footage, and has gotten fined for his actions. Regardless, the damage has been done. Do you have any certain words you would like to say to Mr. Stakhovsky?” 

Rafa’s expression hardened. Sergiy Stakhovsky… what would he say about Sergiy Stakhovsky? He looked at Roger helplessly. Roger only nodded encouragingly, if not a little apologetically. Rafa sighed thoughtfully, before beginning.

“Well… with Stakhovsky, is difficult, no? I know, I knew him from before. Was an okay guy. I never knew what he did at Wimbledon until you knew. Is a shock. I didn’t think he would do that. We didn’t think anyone would.” 

Rafa looked down dismally; hopelessly. His voice was dripping heavily with regret. Roger looked at him empathetically, but could do nothing more than watch. There were tears in Rafa’s eyes. He shook his head slowly, and looked back up across the sea of heads. He persisted. 

“We were wrong, in the end. And it was Stakhovsky who proved this. I do not agree with this man on many things, but I cannot say I have ever thought of him as an enemy to me. What do I have to say to him? I could say I am disappointed. You know, nothing like this has ever happened before but… if I had been in his position, I would have done a lot of things differently. That is all I have to say about him.” 

Rafa nodded his head coldly. His eyes were icy, and mouth resembled the likes of a stern frown. 

There was the rustling of papers and the murmuring of many voices that became the normal ‘presser question transition noise’. Rafa turned to Roger, semi-curious as to what he thought of his latest response. Roger smiled diplomatically, and nodded his head in approval. 

Rafa did a little mental fist pump, before choosing the next hand in the air. It was Roger’s turn to answer. He stared attentively at the next reporter and even had the nerve to crack a little smile. 

Rafa’s expression remained unchanging. His face was seemingly set in stone. But Roger? Roger still seemed at as much ease that one could afford in this situation. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make Rafa’s head spin. 

Then the reporter asked her question.

“In these past ten years, you have confirmed to the media that you, Mr. Nadal, had a girlfriend of twelve years and that you, Mr. Federer, had a wife of nine years and four children.” 

Her voice grew incredulous as the question progressed. She seemed so in disbelief of this whole situation. Too bad it was all real. 

“So… exactly what is you explanation for that? Did they know? What do they think now?” 

Rafa saw the exact moment that Roger stiffened at recoiled. His relaxed glance had been immediately swapped for a look of terror and worry. He shook his head slowly, before attempting to answer the question. 

“Look… I can’t speak for… for my wife and I can’t say anything on her behalf but… what is going on right now is complicated. For her, for me, for our children, for everyone. Things are tight right now, and… I wish she wouldn’t have to suffer for this. None of this is her fault. I was her husband for ten years. They were a great ten years. I love Mirka, but what I feel for Rafa is something else entirely.” 

Roger shook his head frustratedly. 

“You know what? This is kind of hard to understand and… and I haven’t even figured it all out. I’m still figuring it all out. I hope you can accept that as an answer because that is all I can give.” 

At the end of Roger’s reply, he looked exhausted and defeated. His posture slumped in his chair. Rafa got a sinking feeling in his stomach as the women then turned to him. She studied him expectantly. When he didn’t start right away, she cleared her throat.

“Mr. Nadal, your response?” 

Rafa swallowed nervously. There was no way this would be harder than Roger’s answer, he just had to think of something. 

“Meri was my family friend for as long as I can remember. I knew her forever, so we were friends. After realizing that… um… that in sports you need a… girlfriend and I didn’t really, I didn’t want one… so she, I asked her if she wanted to pretend, and somehow she agree to this. And she did for a long time. I owe a lot to her. But I… I am sorry she cannot have normal life when on tour. Even though most of the time she is at home, I am grateful to all her support. I needed a girlfriend, so I got one.” 

Rafa sighed dismally. 

“Besides, if I didn’t have one, you’d have gotten suspicious anyways,” he added under his breath in Spanish. 

Satisfied with their responses, the reporters continued. The minutes slowly, ever so slowly, ticked by. Then, in an act that replenished Rafa’s sanity, the supervisor called out: 

“Last question!”

Rafa and Roger simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief and sank into their chairs. It was almost over. They were almost done. Aimlessly, Roger chose the final interrogator. 

This had been a nearly endless half an hour. Thank god they were almost done… The last reporter asked his question slowly. Either he was to torture the duo further, or he was just trying to savor this moment. Whatever it was, Rafa was not amused.

He tapped impatiently on the table in front of him. Now that the end was in sight, he really couldn’t think of anything else. Except that now there was one last question to answer. 

“After this press conference concludes, which is now, what are your plans for the future? How do you plan to continue playing on the tour? How will you adapt to new lifestyles?” 

All these questions were really three questions smashed into short allotted slots. They were trying to get the most out of their ‘one question’. This one was no different. But would Rafa and Roger even begin to answer this question? 

Rafa had barely talked about his plans on the tour now, much less his future with Roger. Before it was all sneaking around. Now what were they? If not secretly in love, what was their relationship? Rafa thought carefully before answering. 

“Well, my team… we haven’t discussed future tournaments yet. We have announced that we pulled out of Brisbane… but it is a very good warmup for the open. I am considering entering after all. It makes the most sense.” 

He shrugged his shoulders and turned to Roger who nodded in response.

“I agree. I will probably enter as well. It’s important to do the smaller tournaments to practice and work your way up towards preparation for the bigger ones. It would make sense.” 

Roger smiled a little. Some tension has receded at the mention of actual tennis. But this was a two part question. Rafa reluctantly started answering the second part. 

“As for our plans together… there are none as of now. This we will figure out as we go along. Sometimes it works best that way.” 

He allowed himself to smile a little. He turned to Roger, who answered as well.

“I know that there will definitely be a lot of changes in our lives now. Things might be a bit more hectic, maybe not, but things will be different. We will learn to adapt to those differences. But as of now? We know nothing mother than the fact that we’re staying together, through all of this. That’s something you can count on.” 

Roger smiled warmly at Rafa and grabbed his hand from the table and held it softly. Rafa smiled back. Then they heard the supervisor saying:

“This press conference is dismissed.” 

Joyously, they bolted out of the room and hugged each other. They held each other desperately, exhaustedly; relievedly. It was over. 

It was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you think their conference went over all? Good? Bad? If there are any mistakes, it’s because I’m exhausted, and they’re all my fault sorry. There are probably a couple typos? Well anyways, comments and kudos would be really appreciated! They help give me that motivation to finish chapters in the wee hours of the morning. Also, Roger keep winning in Shanghai please thanks. Chapter 23 will be up tomorrow!


	23. State of Oblivion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger’s loss has absolutely crushed me. I really wish tennis didn’t have to be so cruel sometimes. I don’t want to talk about it too much, because it just makes me really sad for what could’ve been and should’ve been. But anyways, I wrote the next chapter. Please don’t kill me, there is a lot of Novak Djokovic in this one. I don’t know exactly why I chose him. I really don’t? This is probably too soon, but if it helps, he lost to Roger in the tour finals? Well anyways, here’s the next chapter!

In the hallway, after a fleeting moment of peace, the world started back in motion around them. Two seconds after their relieved embrace, they were quickly approached by their teams who had been watching the whole session from a screen in another room. 

Rafa and Roger broke apart, reluctantly, to get feedback from their teams. Carlos Costa and Tony Godsick smiled tightly, and nodded approvingly. It was a little hesitant, but they seemed relieved. Maybe things hadn’t gone as terrible as they’d initially thought? Tony initiated the conversation.

“You two did… really well. You guys actually did a pretty decent job. It was all you could do against these people.” 

He stared back in the direction of the media room distastefully, before returning his attention to the pair before him. 

“Anyways, I just wanted to say that I’m proud. Really, you two handled this well. Consider this a victory, alright? I don’t know what they’re gonna say in the next few days… but we did all we could, right?”

Rafa and Roger nodded reluctantly. 

“But what they do say after today… it does matter.” Roger insistently added. “We can’t really control how it affects our lives. We can only try and say the right things.” 

He trailed off hopelessly. Rafa piped up, affirming.

“They mess up what we say no matter what, Rogi. When there is a press conference, there are stories. This one is no different. We just hope that people believe us and support us, that is all.” 

At that, Carlos Costa nodded. 

“Until they say what happens in the stories they write, we wait. And we see what sponsors say.” He observed. “They still choose if they stay or go. Most say they will stay. But some aren’t sure. We will see.” 

At that, they all nodded. But Rafa seemed a little agitated.

“So… we all just… wait?” He added, exasperated. 

Carlos and Tony nodded solemnly. Roger shook his head disappointedly.

“This is really what it all amounts to? Waiting? For how long?” 

He was impatient. After staying inactive for so long, even a little waiting after such a monumental step seemed pointless and eternal. Tony shrugged his shoulders. 

“If they’re quick, which they usually are, maybe a couple hours? A day, tops. We’ll see feedback soon, for sure. But now? Go get rest. Please. You two look like you haven’t slept at all for a week…” 

Roger managed a small, exhausted smile. Rafa leaned on him for support and put his head on Roger’s shoulder. He nodded slowly in agreement.

“Sleep sounds… good.” 

He yawned. Roger nodded as well.

“We stayed up late, working on our statement for today. Turns out, we barely even needed it.” 

He smiled bitterly. Carlos grinned ruefully.

“You two went a little… off script at parts.” 

Rafa ducked his head. Roger shrugged.

“It was necessary, in the end. I guess what we needed to say was never really never written down.” 

Roger half defended, half observed, and wholeheartedly agreed. 

They took a risk. Was it a necessarily bad risk? No. At least, not from what they’ve gathered so far. There was no booing or sideways glances from the numerous staff members who passed them in the hallway. Seeming satisfied with their answers, Tony and Carlos nodded.

“I think we succeeded today, guys,” Tony claimed proudly. 

“I definitely agree,” Carlos added. “Reporters be damned.” 

Rafa and Roger smiled at each other now with the gleaming affirmation of hope in their eyes. They leaned in towards each other, like magnets, and kissed. It was a chaste (obviously they weren’t alone), but fulfilling kiss. 

They could hear Carlos and Tony chuckling amusedly in the background. The pair turned to them sheepishly. Tony and Carlos shook their heads, their eyes sparkling. 

“You two are so cute!” Carlos smiled warmly. 

“Absolutely adorable,” Tony agreed. 

“Now seriously, go get some rest. You have a big week ahead of you…”

——————————

“What do I think about Federer and Nadal’s coming out?” 

Novak Djokovic repeated the interviewer’s question as if it were in some unknown, foreign tongue. His eyes blew wide and he shrugged his shoulders dismissively. 

“Well… I, I think it is nice that in our sport there are players who are comfortable with their identities, and are being proud about”- 

“Sir,” the man interrupted him objectively. 

“In reality, Federer and Nadal didn’t choose to come out. It wasn’t really, um, their decision. So… what do you have today about then regardless?” 

At that last bit of information, Novak’s set grin tightened a little bit. But for the most part, he remained in a diplomatic, neutral stance. 

“I am all for them being out now. It is definitely an important thing. Their press conference, I thought went well. They handled it well, I think. And their video, I did see their video. I… this is interesting, I have to say. I could never have suspected, in all these years, for them to be in a relationship. Never.”

He shook his head incredulously. 

“Their secret was pretty well kept for a while there, I can tell you that.” 

He smiled ruefully. The interviewer continued.

“Have you kept in contact with Federer and Nadal, since any of this happened? Maybe they e called you on the phone?” He asked hopefully. 

Novak shook his head, and you could see him try to restrain the urge to roll his eyes. 

“No, they have not. I don’t think they would. If I were in their position, I wouldn’t call me either. But, I am not in the position. I will never be in their position, so how can I know what’s going on? I don’t. But from what I’ve gathered at their presser, they will survive this.” 

There was an almost… hopeful look on his face. It was almost as if he really wanted them to get through this. Even after everything. After a wonderful year of beating Rafa and Roger left and right, he had been shown his place in the tour finals. Roger took him out in the third round, and then went on to play against Rafa in the finals and win. 

He effectively knocked Novak down a peg, and as the result, he regained number two. Novak was happy for them, he was, but this year had almost been too good to be true. Winning the year end finals would’ve been a nice bonus. 

But that year, it was Roger versus Rafa. It had been awhile. Novak was fine with watching and cheering them along. Almost too coincidentally, news of their affair broke out the next day. 

Novak couldn’t believe it. He had so many questions… obviously he tried to call them twenty times, and obviously they didn’t pick up. Whenever he was with them, before, he had always felt like the third wheel. Well, now he knew why. 

The interviewer he was sitting on the couch next to in Serbia asked the last question. 

“How do you think their love will fare in the open in the world of a competitive sport? How do you think your colleagues will react? The fans? What changes do you think we will see from now on?” 

Novak nodded his head, thoughtfully.

“Good question, really. But honestly, I think their love will do well. I think so. I think that the other players will be supportive as well. At least, most of them. And the fans as well. They took pride in the athletes they knew before. Those same athletes are here today. If they do not see this, then they do not deserve to be the fans. Other changes? Not much. Maybe, I am hoping, some of the younger guys coming onto the tour can be proud about their identities and sexualities, knowing that the two greatest players in our sport right now are gay. Really I think so. I hope so. It’s an important example. An unprecedented example. I’m hoping for positive outcomes.” 

Novak smiled warmly. Then he shook the interviewer’s hand and headed out towards home. Rafa and Roger. He never would have guessed. Were they really good at hiding? Or was he just ignorant? Or was it both? 

Novak shook his head. In the end, their love made sense. It really did. The way their names flowed, the way their eyes sparkled, the way their games each complimented the other, the way they smiled at the net after each match. 

Novak smiled to himself. What an interesting state of obliviousness he had been in for all these years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know Novak Djokovic is the enemy... but for some reason I thought he’d be the perfect player for this scene. I think it works? I hope it works... but in my little fedal world, the tour finals went easy on us. Maybe that can make up for all the Novak in this chapter. There probably won’t be anymore of him, so this is just a one time thing. Still don’t know why I chose today of all days to write a Djokovic chapter, but here we are. Anyways, I hope you liked this chapter! Did you like the Novak idea? Let me know in the comments... I’m curious about this one. Chapter 24 will be up tomorrow! Also: Good luck, Borna Coric! I’m rooting for you!


	24. Creating Amends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s more Mirka in this next chapter! First a convo with Roger, and then one with Rafa. She’s definitely an important part of their lives and this story. I hope you all enjoy! Let’s forget that Novak Djokovic exists for a few minutes, shall we?

The next morning, Roger woke up to the sound of someone knocking on the door to the guest bedroom where he was currently residing. Groggily, he opened his eyes. The sunlight pouring through the windows caused him to squint, but he managed to call out in a hoarse voice:

“Who… is it?” 

He heard a familiar sigh. Mirka. 

“It’s me Rog, come on out. It’s ten thirty and we have things we need to do right now.” 

She stressed the words ten thirty, things, and now. He had better get up. Roger sighed tiredly.

“Alright, alright I’m coming. Just.. give me a minute.” He yawned. 

“I’ll see you downstairs,” She said through the door, before walking away in the other direction.

Roger sat quietly in the guest bed, wondering what exactly was so urgent. Then he remembered. Yesterday. The press conference. Press. Articles. Questions. Notebooks. Hoop earrings. Spinning pencils. Thirty minutes. Rafa. 

Roger bolted up from the bed. Their press conference… there must be some sort of reaction in the news by now! 

Swiftly, Roger climbed out of bed, washed his face, brushed his teeth, fixed his hair, and changed his clothes in record time. No time penalties there. Then he grabbed his phone and rushed down the stairs, scanning the news as he went. 

By the time he got to the bottom step, his brow was furrowed and his feet heavy. He shook his head in disbelief. There were so… many… articles. Definitely at least sixty. And these articles? All the names were different, all the headlines were different, all sixty plus articles were different. That… that’s a lot. 

Each article had its own picture. It was either one from the highly awkward presser, the… video that has started all of this, or from on of the millions of pictures of him and Rafa at the net, hugging in front of the world for everyone to see. 

Unconsciously, Roger made his way into the kitchen and sat down in wooden chair at the table. He scrolled through the headlines. Each one was crazier than the first. 

“‘Nothing else matters because we love each other.’ Nadal and Federer confess all that these past ten years have had in store at their live press conference in London.” 

“‘I needed a girlfriend, so I got one.’ The women in Federer and Nadal’s lives were just decoys to hide their affair of ten years.”

“‘This is not about the tennis. This is about me and Rafa.’ Federer and Nadal have a heart to heart with the journalists at the O2 Arena in London, explaining that these ten years have been ‘valid’ and ‘real’.” To name a few. 

Mirka approached him carefully. 

“How much have you read?” She asked slowly. 

Roger shook his head. 

“Too much, I think.” 

They sat in silence for a minute, neither knowing exactly what to say to make any of this better. Then Mirka relented.

“I… I read through some of those articles. They don’t seem… nearly as bad as they could’ve been,” she stated, trying to create some optimism out of thin air. 

When he didn’t respond, she continued. 

“I know this might seem a little daunting right now, but, you could try to read through some of them.” 

At the look he gave her, she glared. 

“I’m not saying all of them! Just a couple. It could be a good thing, to see what they think, and to see what the public will soon be reading.” 

Roger sighed dismally. 

“You have to admit I make a good point, Rog,” She shrugged her shoulders as nonchalantly as possible. 

Maybe he’d listen to her on this one. 

“Fine,” he relented tiredly. “I’ll read some of them…”

Mirka smiled satisfiedly. 

“But only for you! Not because I… want to or anything. I don’t really want to know what they’re saying. Those headlines… they were enough.” 

Mirka shook her head somberly. 

“It will never get easier you know… to read these articles. That’s why you gotta do it now.” 

He looked up at her sleepily. She sighed. 

“What else are you going to do? Sleep all day? We have work to do!” 

With that, she pushed Roger’s phone in his hands towards his face. 

“Read.” 

Then Mirka got up and walked to the office. 

“I’m calling Rafa and his team, to see what they’re doing,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure Rafa’s reading the articles without a complaint. Seriously, these press conferences have been in you lives forever. It’s about time you got used to their… unique ways.” 

With that Mirka shook her head and entered the office room, closing the door behind her.

She pulled out her phone and sat down at the desk before dialing Rafa’s number. Within two seconds, he picked up. 

“Hello? ...Mirka?”

Rafa’s voice was chock full of nerves and hesitance. It always had been when he was talking to Mirka. He was always so nervous around her, as if she would catch him for stealing the last cookie from the jar. As if he was guilty. Now she knew why. At least it meant he was somewhat sorry, right? 

In her most upbeat voice, she responded.

“Hey Rafa, I was just calling to see how you were doing… you know, with the presser and all.” 

She heard him sigh audibly on the other end of the line. 

“Is difficult… to read. It is all so strange…”. 

Mirka nodded sympathetically.

“Yes! That’s how Roger feels about it too. We’re working on it though. I do believe it’s important that you two read through some of the articles. You can kinda see what you’ll be going up against. You know, like at Brisbane. If you two decide to play that is…” 

Rafa replied with a bit more ease.

“Me and Roger, we both think Brisbane is a good idea, before the open. We will play for sure. The press and the fans… it will be different. You are right… the articles will help. A bit.” 

Then there was an awkward silence that lasted ten seconds. Which in Rafa’s opinion, was ten seconds longer than it needed to be. The tension could be felt, in the air, even over the phone. Rafa had so much he should say to Mirka and hasn’t. So much. But could he say it now? 

In another part of London, Mirka was ready to close the phone.

“Well… uh, okay Rafa. This has been,”-

“Wait!” 

Rafa’s lips formed the word before he could comprehend it. 

“I… I need to say something,” he let out slowly. 

Mirka didn’t answer, so he assumed she was listening. 

“I… I just… I will say that I’m, I’m sorry. I am sorry to you. Really sorry. I mean it. This is such a bad thing we did to you, but we couldn’t not do either way. We lie to you, and we hurt you. I just wanted to say I am very sorry, Mirka. For everything.” 

Rafa lowered his head sadly. It definitely felt better, to finally apologize. But the guilt was still there. This wasn’t an easy thing to forgive. Could Rafa even forgive himself? When Mirka remained silent, he continued fearlessly, now that he had nothing to lose. 

“I love Roger. I love him so much. Nothing could stop me from loving Roger. But this means we hurt you in the process. I am sorry for all of the lying. I promise there will be no more. I am sorry for taking Roger from you, but I love him too much to run away. I understand if you hate me and never want to speak to me again. I completely understand, I just want to say.” 

Rafa waited two seconds. Mirka’s end continued in radio silence. Had she hung up? 

“Mirka?” He called hesitantly. 

Then he heard her clear her throat.

“Yeah, Rafa. I… I’m here. I just… I never knew how much you meant to each other. I never knew how far you would go for each other. I never knew what true could look like. But… with you two… I can see your love, and it does make me happy. It does make me feel better. I love Roger, I always have. But I’m really glad that now someone loves him who he can love back equally. I can’t be mad… when I see this.” 

Rafa’s eyes widened. 

“You’re not… angry?” He shook his head in disbelief. 

Mirka laughed softly and sighed. 

“No… I guess I’m not.” She smiled faintly. 

“We’re… good?” Rafa asked cautiously. 

Mirka laughed again.

“We’re good, Raf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rafa and Mirka needed to have their ‘confrontation’ at some point. How do you think it turned out? Also, coming up with those article names was definitely amusing. Some tennis articles I’ve read in the past have had some pretty interesting titles, it was kinda fun to creat some of my own from the presser. I hope you all liked it! Comments and kudos are always welcome, and chapter 25 will be up tomorrow!


	25. Holiday Endeavors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s chapter is all fedal and not much else. Rafa has a very important question (no, not THAT question) to ask Roger. Happy reading!

For the rest of that week, interactions were tranquil. Futures were still uncertain, but what had been said had been said, and the two tennis teams in London were ready to move forward. 

It had been decided unanimously, by Rafa’s team and Roger’s, that they would play at Brisbane. It was definitely a smaller tournament, but after the month they’d had… it was definitely time to get back on the courts. 

Brisbane was the closest option. And who knows? Maybe they’d advance? But Brisbane started at the end of December, so there were still a few weeks to go. 

Occupying those weeks… was Rafa’s annual holiday gathering he had with his family in Mallorca. But did he want to go this year? It wouldn’t feel right… without Roger there. And Rafa knew Roger wouldn’t feel right without his own family there.

The question Rafa was considering to spring on Roger was a big one. It was one that even he probably didn’t know the answer to. This was commitment. But commitment, with the families they had, was hard. 

But in the end, it was a holiday gathering. What’s the harm in that? Well… actually there was a lot of harm in that, of you were in Rafa’s position. But it was worth a try. Who knows? Maybe Roger Federer and his family wanted to spend the holidays in Spain with Rafa and his family? 

Maybe the question wouldn’t cause as much chaos as it suggested? There was only one way to find out. 

He had to ask Roger.

—————————

That day after lunch, Rafa found a quiet place away from his rambunctious team. He took his phone out, found Roger’s contact, and nervously hit call. 

He started pacing back and forth in the small office room he had found himself in. After a few seconds, Roger picked up.

“Hey Rafa… how’s it going?” He joked slightly in a light tone. 

He was in a good mood. Rafa sighed. He was probably about to ruin that good mood with his one question. 

“Good Roger… I’m okay. You?” 

If he could just stall this conversation a little longer… he could maybe forget and then they’d each have their own separate holidays in their own separate homes with their own separate families. 

“I’m fine. You know, just… practicing and writing statements and stuff. The usual.” 

Rafa laughed uneasily. Then, with some resistance from his mind, he managed to get out a small, but definitely progressive, question.

“So… Roger. Do you know what the plans are… for the holiday season? What you are going to do?” 

This wasn’t exactly subtle, but he was kind of hoping Roger wouldn’t get the point. He seemed a little suspicious as he answered.

“Well… I’m not completely sure yet. Might do something with… Mirka and… the kids. But it all sounds kind of off, don’t you think?” 

Rafa didn’t really know how to respond. But he tried.

“Is same for me Rogi,” he sighed tiredly. 

Why did this have to be so difficult? Nothing was ever easy in Rafa’s life. Ever. Maybe that always made the final results so worth it? In this scenario, the conclusion seemed the most rewarding of them all. 

“Why are you… asking?” 

Roger’s voice slowed, as if he just realized something. Rafa pushed through and continued anyways. Here goes nothing.

“I want to ask if maybe you and Mirka and the kids want to celebrate in Mallorca with my family and me for the holidays?”

It all came out in one big jumble. Rafa could barely comprehend what he had just said, himself. All he knew was that he probably just put his relationship on the line. 

His pacing back and forth in the small office intensified. His steps quickened and his heart rate accelerated. Four… five… six seconds passed and Roger still hadn’t said anything when Rafa was ready to hang up, give up, and spend the rest if his life living in a cave by himself. 

Then Roger finally responded in a tone that was definitely not the lighthearted one from earlier. It was more… panicked.

“W-What? You want to do… what?” 

Rafa couldn’t tell if Roger was yelling at him or not. He swallowed nervously.

“I… I want you to come to Mallorca. For… Christmas. With you family, to be with my family.”

He slowed his breathing down and managed to get out a more comprehensive request. Roger’s voice was more calm as well.

“You do know what you’re asking, right?” He asked shakily. 

Rafa nodded his head firmly, even though Roger couldn’t see him.

“I know what I am saying,” he confirmed with a level voice. 

Roger laughed humorlessly. 

“You do realize… it’s Mirka.” He seemed in disbelief of Rafa’s idea. “It would be a disaster… wouldn’t it?” 

Roger sounded defeated. Rafa’s pacing slowed. 

“Maybe it won’t be,” he offered hesitantly. 

“Maybe they will all get along. Maybe we will have a good time. Maybe we can do it together. Maybe this is a good idea.” 

Now that Rafa had plunged into the debate, he wasn’t backing out. If Roger really was against this idea, he had better have a good reason. They’d come too far to not get through this together. 

Roger still hasn’t responded. Rafa hoped this was a positive, thoughtful silence. 

“What do you think, Rogi?” He asked hesitantly. 

Rafa heard Roger sigh. 

“I… I guess you aren’t wrong. This could work, I think. And I just… I couldn’t imagine spending the holidays away without you anymore. Now that things are different… I don’t think I could do it alone.” 

Rafa nodded, again, not visible to Roger. He continued. 

“It is definitely going to be tough though. Have you… talked to your family about this yet?” 

Rafa paused in his pacing. 

Oh. 

Roger continued, on the silence. 

“You did… tell them this, right?” 

Rafa guiltily replied.

“I… wanted to see what you thought first.” 

He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. 

“What is the point if you say no? What am I gonna tell them?” He explained defensively.

“Well what if they don’t want to do this either? We’re talking Toni, Rafa! Is Toni really, really going to be jumping with excitement at the mention of sharing a holiday dinner with me? Let alone Mirka… or the kids! This isn’t just about us, Rafa.” 

Rafa sighed, and accepted this wordlessly. He would need permission and support from everyone, if this was actually going to happen. But what would Roger say, if the answers were yes?

“Roger… if everyone say yes… not saying is for sure, but if they do, would you and your family come?” 

Rafa held his breath. After a couple seconds, Roger replied.

“Y-Yeah. Yeah… I think we’d make it.” 

Rafa let out his breath relievedly.

“Thank you, Rogi. It means a lot, if you can come.” 

He smiled warmly at the phone in his hands. Somewhere else in London, Roger Federer was smiling back.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty controversial question. It makes sense... and it doesn’t, for different reasons. It should definitely prove for an interesting encounter though! I hope you all liked this chapter! Comments and kudos are the best and I appreciate every single one :) Chapter 26 tomorrow!


	26. Familial Timing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter started off as a pretty vague scene, but then turned into an entire chapter in itself. I have a habit of doing that. :) This time, it’s Rafa and his mother. They certainly have a lot to discuss... I hope you all like the latest intstallment!

Rafa walked slowly down the hallway in his London home. He could hear the soft whirring of a laundry machine below his feet, the rain that had decided to drop for another visit on the roof, and the erratic opening and shutting of many drawers and cabinets as his family and team started packing up to finally head for home. 

Rafa stopped right outside the room where his mother was staying. He heard the unzipping of a suitcase. She was alone. Ten years ago, that wouldn’t have been the case. Ten years ago, Rafa’s father would have been in there too. But after the divorce, while they remained civil, his father opted out of staying at the house. He rented a hotel room instead. 

He was there for Rafa’s matches, he just wasn’t… there. He was still the same supportive father he knew but in a way things were just… different. But it had been ten years, and he had gotten used to the emptiness now. 

Rafa hesitated at his mother’s door before slowly knocking. The zipping momentarily stopped. 

“Who is it?” He heard her ask in a tired, yet stable voice. 

Rafa sighed. He had asked Roger, now he had to ask his other family. This would definitely be harder than it should. Asking if his boyfriend of ten years could come to their annual holiday dinner should not be something that he’d be ashamed and nervous of asking. But it most certainly was, and the only way to make this better was to finally ask the question.

Rafa nodded his head determinedly, before finally responding to his mother.

“It’s me, Mama.”

He waited nervously outside the door before he heard her sigh exhaustedly and reply in a slightly strained voice.

“Come in.” 

When Rafa entered his mother’s room, he saw the tight smile on her face. She was slowly folding clothes on the bed. Rafa smiled back, nervously. He stood in the doorway, unsure of exactly what to do now that he was here. His mother raised her eyebrow.

“Did you have something you wanted to say?”

Then there were a few seconds of silence, in which Rafa contemplated his every reason for being in that room right now, and thought a speedy, unexplained exit wouldn’t be too bad. Alas, for the millionth time, he kept talking. 

That was usually where he went wrong. Why did he have so many awkward conversations? Because he opened his mouth. Always and forever. Every problem could be traced back to this one asset. If he just stopped talking the world would be a much happier place. Maybe world hunger would be solved… maybe they would have world peace… maybe- 

“You’re second guessing yourself, aren’t you?” His mother asked amusedly. 

“What?” Rafa replied, surprised with his mother’s observance. 

“Yeah,” She continued. “You… you’re thinking about leaving right now, I can tell.” 

She smiled again, defiantly. Rafa had nothing to say. This was his mother. If she didn’t know something about him, then Rafa himself probably didn’t know. Well… there was that *one* exception. But asides from that, it was the way it’s always been. This was no exception. Rafa lowered his head, sheepishly. 

“Sorry,” he managed to get out. 

She shook her head.

“Don’t apologize, just tell me. What were you going to say? You know… before you were planning to bolt away.” 

She smiled amusedly. Rafa sighed, there was no point in delaying this any further. If he wanted to spend the holidays with Roger this year, then he would have to work for it. 

This wasn’t easy, but just thinking about cuddling next to Roger on the couch, walking along the beach with him, and eating dinner with Roger and the rest of his family and Roger’s family and everyone getting along, was motivation enough. This was a question that needed an answer. But first… a confession.

“Mama,” Rafa started slowly. “How would you feel… if I told… someone, Roger Federer,” he gulped as her expression turned suspicious. “What if I asked him if he and his family wanted to come over for dinner? During the holidays? In Manacor?” 

As the string of questions made their way out of Rafa’s mouth, his tone gradually got higher and more unsure. The glare she sent him was withering.

“You asked him what?! If he could… come over to our holiday dinner? What are you saying, Rafael?” 

She sounded shocked, and genuinely curious as to how Rafa was going to get himself out of this one. Rafa had no idea. 

“I told him he could come because… well, people know now. You know now. Maybe we could be together in front of people now? That was the plan… I guess.” 

Rafa wished his argument was enough, he really did. But even though his mother wasn’t usually credited for her stubborn drive, when she was faced with an unresolved error, it had to be fixed. 

What was Rafa’s error? He really hoped it wasn’t the fact that it was because he loved Roger Federer, and not Xisca Perello. His mother didn’t really seem to be angry about that though, when they had talked a few days prior. She was more… in shock. Shock was understandable. 

But now… Rafa wanted to be one hundred percent with Roger. It was kind of hard to do that when his family still couldn’t process exactly what was going on. But… if his mother needed time… then time would have to be given. It was only fair. But she didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk about time and shock. 

Right now, her son had just invited his boyfriend of ten years that she had no idea about to her annual holiday gathering in Manacor. What was he thinking? She shook her head.

“Are you insane Rafa? Why didn’t you talk to me about this first?!” 

She had stopped folding clothes now, and stared Rafa dead in the eye. He ducked his head. 

“I am sorry, Mama. I am really, really sorry. This is unforgivable, I know. But please, hear me out. Let me explain. Please.” He nearly begged her. 

After three tense seconds, she relented. 

“Fine.” 

Rafa let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. 

Then after a second of consideration, she added: “And I hope you know I’m not just talking about the holiday invite.” 

She glared at him authoritatively. Rafa nodded his head in acknowledgment. He knew what she meant. He had a lot of explaining to do, but his mother certainly deserved all of it. This was something she didn’t deserve to hear from news articles and grainy videos. This was something he should have told her a long time ago.

“As you know, now,” he started cautiously, “Roger and I first kissed in the Wimbledon locker room, after the 2008 final. I don’t know why it was then… really… it was just, I guess the atmosphere. I guess it was what we had just gone through. Or maybe it was just that we knew we had something but we just didn’t know. It’s hard to explain, really.”

Rafa studied his mother intently. She listened to him patiently. Explained what happened, in Spanish, was so much easier than trying in English. Really, he didn’t know how Roger did it. Maybe he was just amazing at everything after all? Then you listen to him try to speak Spanish… and you remember that he’s human too. 

It’s too bad everything has to be in English, or people would really understand him a lot more. Roger would understand him a lot more. Sometimes it was hard. But now, even without a language barrier, this was hard. 

“We decided that we needed to keep our relationship a secret together. It just… made sense. It really did. What we were doing was unheard of. We figured the news would be disastrous if it ever got out… and we were right.” 

He grimaced slightly, before continuing. 

“Keeping a secret from the world also meant… keeping secrets from you. I’m so sorry, but it was a decision we made and, um, intended to keep.” 

He lowered his head sadly. He probably shouldn’t have said that last part. His mother looked angry again. 

“So if this Stakhovsky man hadn’t said anything, you would’ve kept your mouth shut forever? You would’ve lied to everyone about who you loved? For the rest of you life?” 

She sounded incredulous and had every right to. Rafa nodded his head slowly. She glared at him. 

“Do you have any idea how wrong that sounds?”

Once again, Rafa nodded. She sighed, defeatedly. 

“I just don’t understand… why you didn’t tell us. Why didn’t you trust us?” 

Her glare softened from cold anger to confused misery. The energy from before had been zapped and she had been left with… herself. Rafa didn’t know what to say anymore. He had no response. 

“What can I say… to prove to you that I love you? What can I say… to show you that I trust you. What can I say… to help you believe that I am really truly sorry?” 

He found his wording miserably. His mother shook her head and smiled sadly.

“Time, Rafael. Time will heal. We will learn again, what we share and what we can’t take for granted anymore.” 

Rafa sighed, and shivered. Time. There had been so much time lately, that he hadn’t stopped to think of how. Or why. Or who. Or… when. 

This would take a while. This whole process would take a while. But Christmas? That was fast approaching. If they were going to work towards healing, what better solution than celebrating the holidays with your family by your side? Or your extended family. Or your… son’s secret boyfriend’s family. 

Regardless of whether things would actually get better, Rafa needed an answer. He knew everyone would benefit from this plan in someway, so why not?

“So, what do you say about Manacor?” He asked hopefully, with a small smile on his face. 

She smiled back softly. 

“It’s better late than never I suppose,” she sighed. 

Rafa held his breath. 

“Tell Roger we’d be happy to have him and his family.” 

At that, Rafa went up to his mother and hugged her fiercely. After a second, she hugged him back.

“Thank you, Mama, thank you,” he whispered, tears starting to run down his face. 

His mother smiled strongly, tears threatening as well.

“You’re welcome Rafael, always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t really know too much about Rafa’s mother, but I felt compelled, for some reason, to write about her here. This was definitely a much needed conversation. But I just don’t know what she’s really like, at all, so I just guessed. Hopefully it’s believable enough? As always, if you have feedback of any and all kind, feel free to drop a comment! Kudos are also totally appreciated! Chapter 27 will be up tomorrow!


	27. Idealistic Counters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s chapter has a bit of Rafa, and more Roger. Also Mirka, and a brief Federer twins squared cameo. I hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> Also: The fedal tag on tumblr is a wonderful place to procrastinate :)

After Rafa’s conversation with his mother, he found the courage to ask the rest of his family what they thought while simultaneously apologizing for everything. His sister agreed, his father agreed, his uncles (including Toni?!) agreed, his aunts agreed, his grandparents agreed, and his cousins agreed. 

This was… impossible! No one seemed entirely opposed to his idea. In a way, it was kind of suspicious. After he went and spilled his heart out and begged on his knees and went through all the trouble… they actually seemed kind of excited, or at least pleased, to maybe host a dinner for the great Roger Federer. Or… just Rafa’s boyfriend of ten years. But probably the former. Come on, he was Roger Federer!

Rafa guessed he was just surprised that no one really yelled at him about this. Or not as much as he felt he should’ve been. It almost felt wrong, like he was getting away with it all. 

Someone should just yell at him, it’d be easier that way. I’m sure he could find something for Toni to lecture him about… but no, everyone else was coping… just fine. It was Rafa now, who was left behind. 

Really, honestly, Rafa was not complaining. He couldn’t. He had no right to. All he could do was nod graciously and thankfully at his great aunt who said she’d be delighted to have Roger Federer over. She was old. Maybe she didn’t know exactly what was happening, or what was on the news.

But even Toni, he had a calm, cool, collected air about himself as Rafa proposed his idea. The older man nodded once, confidently, and walked out of the kitchen where they had been talking. 

This was all so puzzling to Rafa, so new. His sister at first looked at him like he had grown another head, before shaking hers. 

“I don’t know what you’re getting yourself into… but I won’t get in the way,” she said finally.

Somehow, no one had kicked him out yet. It was a mystery, really. But if yes was there answer, then yes he would receive. 

Rafa was so unsure of getting this response from everyone that he had no idea what to do next. Tell Roger, he supposed. Rafa, his team, and his family, were finally leaving for home later that day. There would be the airport, and the people, and the crowds, and the… people, but he’ll survive. 

Before he headed to Mallorca, he needed to know Roger’s response. Maybe it was because his mother just needed a headcount for adults and children? Or maybe it was because Rafa was just really nervous about the whole thing? The answer was beyond him. 

Rafa walked slowly into his all-packed-up room sat down on the bed, before calling Roger’s number.

—————————

Ten minutes walking distance away, ten hours previous, Roger Federer was trying to find a good way to tell Mirka about their holiday dinner invite with the Nadal’s. Spoiler alert: there was no good way. 

Eventually, Roger gave up on finding the best cushion for the fall, and decided to spring the question on her at breakfast earlier that morning. 

They had been sitting around the wooden table, Roger, Mirka, and their four children. It had been like every morning since the video had been released. The atmosphere was generally quiet, with the occasional puncturing of silence coming from the clanging of silverware or the children giggling amongst themselves. 

Myla and Charlene were old enough to know that something bad had happened. What exactly? They weren’t quite sure. All they knew was that their parents weren’t nearly as close as they were before, and definitely drifting even further apart. Their usual cheerfulness was muted, because of this. 

Roger and Mirka tried to help them smile through this, but it was difficult. Now Leo and Lenny on the other hand… they really had no idea what was going on at all. As long as they had their toys and each other, they were fine. 

Roger didn’t know what to say around them anymore… but he certainly tried to be as careful as possible around them. What he had done to Mirka was terrible enough, he didn’t want to hurt his children either. 

Roger knew it was a little late to be having this conversation. He and Mirka had talked about a separation, a public one. The kids would definitely know the difference between “happy married couple” and “sad divorced couple”. But what had to be done would be done. In the end, he just hoped this wouldn’t affect them too much. 

Myla, Charlene, Leo, and Lenny meant the world to Roger. They truly did. He loved his children and wanted only the best for them. He couldn’t even give them… ‘meh’. But someday, at a distant point in the future, he hoped they forgave him. And maybe today, inviting them to Mallorca, would be a step in the right direction? 

If they were trying to get back to normal, which they do desperately were, then what was more normal than a Christmas dinner surrounded by a thousand relatives? It wasn’t a very strong argument compared to all the reasons this would make a terrible idea, but Roger was willing to take a risk. 

He cleared his throat loudly, in the silence. Mirka and four smaller pairs of eyes turned to him attentively. Roger took a deep breath, and hesitantly began.

“So. Mirka. Kids. I… I have something I just wanted to… run past to you guys, to see if you’d… agree.” 

Mirka raised an eyebrow. Slightly wavered, he continued. 

“It has to do with the holidays. Christmas.” 

At that, the four younger table inhabitants’ eyes brightened and they straightened in their seats. 

“We… we usually just do something in Switzerland, every year. I… me and… Rafa, we were just thinking that, that maybe we could, join them for the holidays… in Spain?” 

Roger shrank in his seat lower and lower as his rambling question progressed. The withering glare Mirka shot him as she realized what Roger had just said was almost enough to have him tanking. Almost. 

But this was a battle Roger wasn’t going to give up easily. If they were really going to face this, they would go to this dinner together. There was no other option. This wasn’t something that if they just ignored it, it would go away. No, Rafa was a permanent fixture, and he was here to stay. 

Mirka didn’t seem to think this though, and shook her head fiercely. 

“You can’t possibly… mean what you’re saying?! Are you… crazy?” 

She laughed in disbelief. 

“You have to be kidding. Please, *please* tell me you’re kidding.” 

It was Roger’s turn to shake his head. He could tell Mirka was restraining herself in front of the children, but if they were alone, Roger’s head would be chopped clean off. Maybe this breakfast time was intentional? In an… unconscious sort of way? Whatever the reason, he was thanking it right now, as he wildly searched his mind with a proper response to Mirka’s fury. 

“Look, you have to understand alright? Just… hear me out. Please.” 

She sent one more outraged look his way, before crossing her arms and turning to their sons and daughters.

“You are all free to leave,” she informed them sternly. 

The dangerous glint in her eye informed them that they really had no choice. Whether they wanted to remain at the table or not, they had better get lost. 

Quietly and efficiently, four chairs pushed away from the table and swiftly walked down the hallway, away from their combatting parents. After they left, Mirka’s turned back to Roger. 

“Explain,” she uttered coldly. 

Roger took a deep breath preparedly, and began his defense.

“A little while ago, Rafa asked me if maybe we all wanted to do the holidays together as a family in Mallorca. His parents host a celebration every year. Rafa thought it might be nice to invite us. And I graciously took him up on the offer, as long as you consented as well.” 

He turned to her expectantly. She studied him skeptically.

“And his family said… that this would be an acceptable arrangement?” 

She raised an eyebrow again. Roger stared down, sheepishly. 

“I am actually… not exactly sure yet,” he nearly whispered. 

At the exasperated look Mirka gave him at that, he continued. 

“He told me he’ll let me know what they said later. And… and he said he already told everyone we would come, so now we have to go!” He added at the end. 

Mirka still didn’t seem that convinced. 

“What happens if we do go? Is this really going to be a calm and peaceful vacation? Something tells me otherwise.” 

Roger sighed. 

“Yes, we have… stuff we need to figure out. But… nothing is going to get solved sitting around in London all year. We need to talk to Rafa, together. It’s like you said Mirka, we need to take initiative here.” 

He smiled proudly, turning Mirka’s own words against her. She rolled her eyes. He could tell she was fiercely fending off a rogue smile. 

“I… I don’t know what to say, Rog. I don’t think I could ever convince you not to go and… I guess I’ve always wanted to visit Mallorca.” 

Mirka shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, as if she had just admitted the most normal thing in the world. 

“Sure. I mean… I guess. Let’s go to their ‘holiday gathering’ then.” 

With that she smiled softly and clasped Roger’s hand, before pulling her chair away from the table, letting go, and walking slowly down the hallway. 

“Mirka!” He called after her. 

She turned around. 

“Thank you… for everything.” 

He smiled warmly. She smiled back.

“I’ll go tell the girls to start packing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that everyone’s on board... Rafa and Roger will finally get to discuss their holiday plans! I hope you all liked this newest addition! Let me know what you think with a comment or a kudo, both are equally amazing! Chapter 28 will be up tomorrow!


	28. Airport‘s Unwanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the next one! Lots of airport, if you haven’t already guessed by the title. Also, an unexpected face. But also, duh, fedal. I mean, why else are we here? :) I hope you all like this chapter!

Maybe everyone agreeing was the easy part after all. 

After Rafa told Roger that there had been approval from his end, and Roger told him that the same was true on his, Rafa’s family and team postponed their flight until everyone was ready. Because of this, the quieter, more private airlines had come and gone. There were only the commercial airline seats left now. 

Where else would they be able to get nearly twenty tickets on short notice? If they wanted to go anytime soon, this was the only option. It definitely had its share of complications. But they needed to get to Mallorca, and a plane will do just that. So what if it was the largest airport in all of London? They needed to get home.

Rafa and Roger had agreed that they’d meet at the airport. That, in itself, was an absolutely terrible idea. The crowds at the London-Heathrow airport were impenetrable, and getting helplessly lost seemed way too easy.

Now, Roger rushed clumsily along with his tennis bag over his shoulder and a metallic suitcase bumping sporadically behind him. Mirka followed suit, with her purse and another suitcase. Struggling to keep up, were four pairs of shorter legs carrying their little backpacks. 

Every quarter second, Roger and Mirka turned around clunkily to make sure they were still there. This went on for a good five minutes, searching for the right terminal. 

Of course, they had to be at G-52. That was at least fifteen minutes of walking, no sorry, running to get to the terminal on time. Roger had no idea where Rafa was right now, but hopefully he was already there with his family and team, waiting for them. 

The clans had taken two cars, and of course, the Federers’ had gotten separated by and delayed in the traffic. It was brutal. The stop and go was pretty bad, but what got to him were the voices from the back that kept asking when they were gonna get there. It took all of Roger’s patience not to just open the car door and walk away through the sound wall of honking horns. Every drop. 

Finally, they pulled up to the airport. At their planned meeting place, the grassy courtyard in the front, Rafa’s mob was nowhere to be seen. Then, after looking at the time, they realized why. 

There was a little less than an hour to make it to their terminal. Just great. In the end, Roger and Mirka milked that ‘less than an hour’ for all it’s worth. They arrived at the terminal just as the attendant announced first class needed to line up with their boarding passes out. 

Roger breathed a sigh of relief, after the mention of first class. He needed first class right now. But looking around the gate with increasing worry, he realized that Rafa and his team were nowhere to be found. Mirka noticed to. She whispered, more like yelled over the crowds, in his ear. 

“Rafa and his group… they’re not here.” 

Her eyes held a trace of nervousness and a hint of annoyance. Roger groaned exhaustedly. 

“I… I’ll call him.” 

He took out his phone and selected Rafa’s name. He waited anxiously for the other man to pick up his phone. Where could he be?

———————

Rafa’s car arrived at the airport an hour and a half to departure. He didn’t see Roger anywhere, and assumed they were just stuck in a little bit of traffic and would probably be there soon.

Rafa, his family, and his team all made it through security relatively quickly. Yes, there were a few second glances and a bit of whispering, but that was all fine. That he could handle.

Walking to their terminal was definitely a hassle. It was nearly on the other end of the airport. But realizing that there was still plenty of time, they went to one of the little side markets that sold sandwiches and energy drinks. They were all a little hungry, since no one had bothered with breakfast. 

But while everyone else went to go sit down, Rafa decided he would go into the small store next door. It was the kind that sold neck pillows, candy bars, and magazines. He was bored, so he went in to peruse. 

His mother warned him not to take too long, their flight would be boarding soon. Rafa promised to look around as quickly as possible. Maybe he’d find something interesting to read on the flight? The place looked inconspicuous enough. 

Idly, he glanced over the magazine covers. He froze, when he found a picture of him and Roger in the upper left corner on one of them.

Averting his eyes right away, it took all his willpower not to go back and read whatever the article had said. But he knew that he shouldn’t, and that it was all wrong, and that it doesn’t matter what they said. It doesn't mean he can’t be curious, but staying away from the magazines was probably a good idea. 

Then Rafa turned around and came face to face with a man who had an irritated air about himself. He sneered at Rafa as he turned around, and started laughing to himself. The foul expression on his face did not go away. 

Rafa’s face drained of all color when recognition dawned on him and he realized who the man standing in front of him now was. His eyes widened, and he immediately backed up into the magazine shelving. 

Rafa shook his head wildly. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be him standing here. There has to be some mistake. How did this happen? Sergiy Stakhovsky, in all his glory, continued to laugh. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Rafael Nadal?” He smirked. “Fancy seeing you here. How’s your week been?” 

He smiled, fakely, and Rafa could tell that it was on purpose. Honestly? Rafa had nothing to say to this man. Absolutely nothing. 

Sure, he told the press what he thought but… he never thought he’d actually come in contact with Sergiy Stakhovsky ever again. And he didn’t want to. Not ever. But now, he was too nervous and panicked to think straight. 

“Fine,” he answered lamely. 

Rafa kept it short and curt. He wasn’t wasting any breath on this man. 

“Oh come on, man,” Sergiy grinned wickedly. “You can’t tell me that everything”-

“What are you doing here?” 

Rafa cut him off sharply. He stood up straight again and glared indignantly at the man. Cowering was not an option. Sergiy glared back now. The false origins of those smiles seemly forgotten. 

“I’ve been hiding out in London for awhile, before leaving, same as you.” 

He stared distastefully at Rafa who shook his head.

“It is not the same as us. Me and Roger are not found guilty of a crime.” 

His voice was cold. Sergiy scowled. 

“Oh please. What you two did should be a crime,” he remarked bitterly. 

Rafa was close, way too close, to shoving Sergiy into the wall and socking him in the stomach. But that would cause a scene and unwanted attention. Also probably Toni would be mad. But the anger in Rafa’s eyes and in his voice did not recede in any way. 

“What we did was not a crime. No way it was a crime. What you do, sneaking into locker room and lying to guards, that is a crime. Me and Roger had no crimes,” Rafa nearly growled. 

Sergiy seemed amused by Rafa’s anger. 

“To each their own, my friend. But if it were my choice, you two wouldn’t be playing any professional tennis right now. Or anytime soon.” 

Sergiy shrugged his shoulders. 

“Yeah, my plan kind of failed. I can admit that. But I hope you and Federer learned a lesson. And maybe now you’ll watch who you ‘fall in love’ with.”

He made quotation marks in the air at the words ‘fall in love’. That fueled Rafa’s anger. 

“I don’t know who you think you are, Stakhovsky, but if you think you have any business in my own life and my own decisions and my own feelings... You have no right! But you go ahead and do anyway. You are a terrible person, and I hope you know that.” 

He tried desperately to mask any hurt that threatened to surface. Sergiy was most definitely not going to win this battle. 

“You have no control over anything I do. And I can say to you, I promise that, all my feelings are real. And… you can’t just say the things you do. You don’t know. You don’t know anything.” 

Rafa’s whispering grew fierce as he struggled to contain himself in the small store. Sergiy’s look of amusement finally retreated and returned carrying a white flag. He looked shocked. 

Rafa was not done. Rafa was in no way done. But then, at that moment, his phone started ringing. Swiftly, he pulled it out and checked the caller ID. 

Roger. The flight. Oh god, he had to go. 

He turned back to Sergiy Stakhovsky, who was peering over his shoulder to see who was calling as well. Rafa pulled his phone closer to his chest annoyedly.

“Excuse me Sergiy, but my *boyfriend* is calling me. I don’t want to be late to our flight. Goodbye.” 

And with that cold exit and one last sneer, Rafa left a bewildered Sergiy Stakhovsky in the dust.

Only when he was finally far away from the store did his breathing slow down and a small smile creep on his face. Sighing exhaustedly, he picked up Roger’s call. Rafa definitely had a lot to tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Sergiy came back for a limited engagement. Luckily Rafa had some choice words for him. I hope you all liked this chapter! And also, I have finally come up with an outline for the rest of the story, so now I have a definite direction instead of endless aimless ones. I’ll still probably improvise a ton, but now I have a plan. So there’s that. 
> 
> If you really liked this chapter, or have any sort of feedback, a comment or kudo is highly appreciated! Chapter 29 will be up tomorrow!


	29. Cutting it Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some typical ‘oh my god we’re going to miss the flight!’ in this chapter. Also the Spaniards and the Swiss finally find each other! Enjoy!

Before Rafa could even attempt to greet Roger, the Swiss started yelling at him through the phone in a panicked voice.

“Rafa! Where the hell are you?! I swear to god you are going to miss this flight and we’re going to have to explain ourselves to your grandparents, or whoever you said was going to pick us up, without you! Where did you guys go?!”

Rafa stood frozen in his spot for a second, before hesitantly checking the time. Oh god, it was *definitely* time to go to the terminal. He rushed away from the shops while apologizing to Roger profusely.

“I see the time! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! We’re coming, we are! Now I will get them! Hang on Rogi, just five minutes. Tell attendants five minutes!” 

He had to nearly yell over the crowds in the airport. Rafa knew there was nothing Roger could tell the flight attendants at the gate. Not now, anyway. Maybe before, delaying an entire plane for Roger Federer was an honor. Now, neither of them wanted to be spotted, questioned, gawked at, or photographed. It would cause too much attention. 

But right at that moment, Rafa had more important things to worry about. Such as the fact that he and his three quarters of the entourage were about to miss their flight home. Roger groaned impatiently through the phone.

“Oh my god Rafa! Can you please just hurry? We are lining up right now and you guys are nowhere to be seen! You’re lucky my team already went home… we’d just be even more late. Where even are you?”

Rafa cursed silently under his breath as he approached a table at one of the casual, walkway-side restaurants where his family and team were sitting and eating their food at a leisurely pace.

“Not where we should be,” Rafa nearly growled, but it was not directed towards Roger.

“Look, just hurry, okay? I’m serious,” Roger nearly begged. 

Rafa managed a tight smile that no one could even witness.

“I will try. See you at the terminal.” 

Rafa hung up the phone at that, Stakhovsky nearly forgotten. Right now, he had to get his family and his team out of the restaurant and to the correct terminal in five minutes.

This would be harder than any timing between serves… 

Angrily, Rafa approached their table. They glanced up at him, innocently. He shook his head in frustration. 

“What are you all doing?” 

He groaned exhaustedly. His sister answered his question, confusedly.

“We’re eating… breakfast?” 

She shrugged her shoulders submissively. 

“Why do you look so.. angry? Did Robin Söderling announce he’s coming out of retirement?” 

Rafa rolled his eyes at that remark, but otherwise kept a straight face.

“Do you all not know what time it is?!” 

Rafa glared at them incredulously. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, his mother pulled out her phone and checked the time. Then he saw her eyes widen and her mouth open and a look of horror overtake her features. 

“No!” She managed to get out before scrambling from her seat. 

“No! No! Okay we have to go! Now! Get up everyone, get up!” 

Rafa’s mother was absolutely hysterical. One by one, everyone else rushed to get up. 

“How did we… it’s time to go to the terminal!” His mother continued in panic. 

She struggled to lift the handle on her suitcase. It usually jammed, but now was kind of a bad time. Frustratedly, she yanked it finally and it let up. Then Carlos Moya turned to their half-finished food with a raised eyebrow.

“And what about the food?” He asked Rafa quickly. 

Using thought processes that took up less than three seconds, he fished around in his wallet for enough British banknotes and threw them down on the table dramatically.

“Let’s go,” he urged tiredly. 

And with that, the Spanish clan made their way to terminal G-52, where Roger and his five other ticket holders were waiting. 

Even a couple gates down, Rafa could see Roger pacing nervously back and forth. He could also see Mirka and the four Federer twins. He smiled relievedly when he saw them all. Mirka spotted him first and he could see her letting out a stress-induced breath. Quietly, she nudged Roger to get his attention. He turned to her, and then turned to look at Rafa. 

Time stopped when Roger and Rafa made eye contact. It seemed that there was no airport, that there were no crowds, and that they were not almost going to miss their flight. Roger smiled softly, and Rafa allowed one of his own to fall into place.

The moment was broken as Rafa’s sister shook his shoulders back and forth. He glanced at her quizzically, she stared at him with concern.

“Are you… okay? You were kinda staring into thin space and just standing there so…” 

She shrugged, before grabbing his arm and pulling him forwards. Rafa shook his head believably.

“What? No… it’s… I’m fine. Let’s just get to the gate, okay?” 

She nodded hesitantly, accepting his answer, but the confusion and concern did not completely leave her face. There would be a lot of looks like that this holiday season already, just great. Rafa looked back to where Roger was. Now the older man was trying to zip Lenny’s… no Leo’s backpack. 

Every time Rafa saw the twins, he liked to quiz himself, seeing who he could identify individually. So far, results were not very promising. But Rafa had made a point to know the Federer twins as if they were his own… no. He’s just going to… leave it at that. 

Fifteen heavy-suitcase-filled seconds later, Roger was shaking Carlos’ hand timidly and smiling unsurely at Rafa’s mother and sister, who smiled unsurely back. There was no time to talk in the line, because of its decrease in size as the minutes crept by. 

Within five seconds, Roger had his boarding pass scanned. The attendant studied him suspiciously before continuing. In the end, it together a good thirty seconds to get through everyone. At that point, the two tennis players and their casts in tow were walking through the tunnel into the plane. 

Rafa felt the ever-familiar nerves start up again. Every single time he ever flew, he got nervous. And being a professional tennis player… let’s just say he got nervous a lot. It’s gotten better by margins as the years progressed, but there was something about being on a metal vehicle in the middle of the air that just made his hair stand on one end and his head spin.

It was a fear of sorts. Roger knew about this fear very well, and reached out his hand to Rafa as they were walking through the tunnel. Rafa grabbed a hold of it, before gratefully glancing at Roger. Roger looked at his boarding pass, then at Rafa’s. He smiled.

“We’re right next to each other, you know,” he laughed a little. 

Rafa allowed a laugh too.

“You made it that way Rogi, so we could sit together on the flight. But it will still be tough,” Rafa grimaced slightly. 

Roger playfully rolled his eyes. 

“Two and a half hours? Come on, Rafa! It’s not that bad. You’ll be fine.” 

With that, Roger quickly pecked Rafa on the lips. Rafa smiled a little more genuine the second time around.

“I will be fine.”

He nodded his head in assurance, half to Roger, half to himself. This would be a long trip. Even if in reality it was a relatively short one. Rafa had to tell Roger about Stakhovsky at some point, right? The journey ahead would not be an easy one.

And he wasn’t just talking about the flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Airports are hectic and I have had A LOT OF (probably too much) experience with this fact. This chapter is like, the story of my life but with fedal. I hope you all liked it! If you have any feedback or criticism or anything really, you can leave a comment or drop a kudo! Both are highly anticipated by yours truly! Chapter 30 (30?!) will be up tomorrow!


	30. Gaining Altitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update’s a little late... I was dragged to a baseball game that went overtime. I may or may not have fallen asleep while writing? Anyways, here’s chapter 30! I hope you all enjoy :)

Rafa didn’t know if Roger had informed Mirka of the seating arrangements ahead of time or not, but she wordlessly sat down with Leo and Lenny, keeping a wary eye on Myla and Charlene in the row ahead of her. 

She didn’t heed any acknowledgement to Rafa and Roger who sat right next to each other, on the other side of the aisle. It was as if there was some unspoken agreement, that Rafa reserved the right to sit with Roger from now on. 

Rafa would feel terribly guilty about this, and he did a little, if he hadn’t been so anxious about the concept of mid air travel. Roger had Rafa’s hand enclosed in his, and the younger man’s head was resting on his shoulder. There hadn’t been very many words spoken by anyone since they entered the plane. 

It was a pretty quiet morning. If you could count the airport in London as quiet, that is. It had been a pretty chaotic day… there just hadn’t been much talking. 

The night before, Rafa’s team expressed their apprehension towards this joint-plane ride. No one was really sure as to how they should act around Roger Federer anymore. 

Their interactions that morning had been choppy and hesitant. There wasn’t any resentment or distrust in anyone’s eyes… just unsureness. Rafa could tell everyone was ready to get through the awkwardness. It would just take more time, is all. 

His observance among his team grew with his observance of the public. Every time he witnessed someone glancing at him or Roger with unrecognition and indifference, his heart soared and his faith in humanity grew by ten percent. Those were momentous occasions that he never suspected he’d ever actually want to celebrate. 

But those very few seniors with fancy cameras and football sweatshirts were more scarce than Rafa could appreciate. More often than not, he was stared at unwillingly.

He and Roger, whenever they were together, the press seemed to follow. This plane ride was no exception. Rafa knew that the photographers were trying to be sneaky, but he could easily see them through the potted plants and leather chairs and fountains.

Sure, Rafa had been followed before, but not like this. Never like this. But if Roger was going to be with Rafa in Mallorca, running into your ‘run of the mill’ sneaky cameraman left and right was unfortunately inevitable. It was just another price to pay. It was worth it. It was all worth it. 

But right now, everyone was adjusting to the extreme changes. It was a quiet adaptation. Roger was sitting in the seat closest to the aisle, Rafa was right next to him, and an unnamed civilian sat in the window seat. 

The old woman pretended to be reading her magazine, but Rafa knew that the second he turned his head, she’d be staring at him and Roger again. 

He sighed tiredly as he aimlessly flipped through the complimentary magazine of his own, feeling the woman’s eyes burning into his skin. This would be a long flight. 

Their plane was small, and the air was stuffy. Rafa longed to get outside. He couldn't wait to just… be on Mallorca again. The feeling of home was one of the greatest feelings ever known to Rafa. There was Roger, and there was Mallorca. Having both intertwined… Rafa would be complete. There was no other way to describe it. 

But right now… well, right now he just wanted to sink into his seat and attempt futilely at sleep. Roger sighed next to him. Rafa turned to see him on his phone, staring at it miserably.

“What’s wrong, Rogi?” Rafa asked tiredly. 

Roger shook his head.

“It’s just… we literally just left the airport and there are already… there are so many pictures.” 

Roger showed his screen to Rafa scrolled through what seemed like an endless amount of photos. Those photographers were better than he thought… Rafa sighed dismally.

“I am not too surprised at this,” he admitted quietly.

“Me neither,” Roger agreed. 

Then Rafa remembered what he had resolved to tell Roger earlier.

“Um, at the store, before you called me…” 

Rafa had no idea, none at all, as to how Roger would react to the mention of Sergiy Stakhovsky. They had never really talked about him much themselves. But what had happened earlier needed to be told. Roger looked at him openly, curiously, encouragingly. Rafa continued. 

“I actually, I run into, I see… Sergiy Stakhovsky was there.” 

Rafa squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. Roger gaped at him in disbelief.

“You saw who?!” He hissed loudly. 

There was outrage written across Roger’s face. Rafa could assume it wasn’t exactly directed at himself. Probably to Stakhovsky. Roger looked absolutely furious. Rafa had to deal with this slowly, calmly. There was too much chaos everywhere else. 

“I was in the travel store, and I turn around, and he is there for flight. He sees me and,” by the hardened look on Roger’s face, Rafa decided it would be a good idea to omit the ‘amused’ parts. 

“He sees me, he says what he always says. We were wrong… he was doing a good thing… all of that. I… might have yelled at him.” 

Rafa shrugged submissively, trying not to make a big deal out of this, or Roger would too. Rafa saw his eyes soften, a little. He allowed a small smile and shook his head slowly.

“You yelled… at Stakhovsky?” 

Roger studied him with disbelief. Rafa nodded, unsurely.

“I did. Was that… bad?” 

The second he finished the sentence, Roger shook his head and laughed a little.

“No! No… definitely not! It was more like good. Or great. Or perfect.” 

Roger beamed at Rafa, who blushed a little. Roger continued. 

“Seeing Stakhovsky again, I don’t know how I’d react. I guess I didn’t know how you’d react either. I’m glad you finally found your capability to physically yell at another human being. It’s about time, right?” 

Roger joked lightly. Rafa laughed a little.

“I am just glad he leave me alone after that. You called, so I left.” 

Roger raised his eyebrow.

“When I called you… you were just getting out of your self defense class with Stakhovsky?” 

Rafa nodded sheepishly. 

“It was too late to say anything to you then… we were about to miss the flight.” 

Roger shrugged his shoulders at that.

“True. But hey, we did make it!” 

Rafa laughed a little, before the pilot’s voice could be heard through the speakers throughout the plane announcing their commencement. 

Rafa buckled his seatbelt tightly, maybe even too tightly. One hand grasped the armrest, the other grabbed Roger’s hand. 

The plane rumbled to a start. By start, he means a very slow, very anticlimactic period in which the plane is just being transported from the gate and to the runway. It almost annoyed Rafa, that this flight with all others could start so unassuming and tame. 

Then, a vibration from the floor as the plane gained speed. Then a roar from the wheels that roughly made contact with the ground below them. Then the sheer terror of watching the wheels lift slowly, marginally, and bump back down, slowly getting faster and faster.

Then, the wheels are too fast for the ground to contain them, and they lift fully into the air. There is the strangest, most foreign sensation of weightlessness for a few seconds as you watch the ground move further and further away. 

Rafa turned away from the window, exhaustedly. Why did he have to look, every single time? He glanced over at Roger, who smiled back at him reassuringly. 

The grip on his hand tightened. This was Rafa’s first flight with Roger, sitting side by side. 

Thinking about it, he’d sit on a hundred more uneasy flights if only to have Roger next to him, smiling at him as if there were no one else. 

Rafa would fly a lot more, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They’ve finally made it onto the plane! Airport one, down. They didn’t escape without their fair share of photos though. In the next chapter, they will arrive in Mallorca at last! I hope you liked this chapter! Comments and kudos are always welcome in my humble home. Chapter 31 will be up tomorrow/tonightish!


	31. Seamless Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 31 is up! There’s a lot of fluff in this one... I hope you all like it! I think we could all use a little fluff. ;)

It was early afternoon, by the time the plane landed on the island of Mallorca. After making his way through the tunnel and studying the atmosphere outside the building through a floor-to-ceiling window, Roger could tell the weather would not be in their favor. 

The skies were dark and blotted with storm clouds. There were no raindrops resting on the glass panes yet, but Roger knew they were coming. There was a strong wind shaking the branches of trees and causing the towering palms to sway dangerously in all directions. 

Rafa stared out of the window with him. He sighed, disappointedly.

“Of course. Of course it is going to rain. We just get here and now it is going to rain…” 

He shook his head sadly. Roger smiled wryly. 

“I’m sure there are some indoor courts somewhere on this island.” 

He attempted to lighten the mood with his sarcastic indifference. Rafa laughed a little, so it kind of worked. 

“I just think maybe we can all go down to the beach. Or maybe cook outside. Not everything is about tennis, Rogi.”

Rafa finally cracked a smile. Roger was about to respond when Mirka interrupted urgently.

“Here, Rog, Lenny stubbed his toe on Myla’s suitcase. Can you just hold him for a quick second? I need to go talk to her about watching where she rolls that thing. I knew we should’ve just bought them small duffel bags or something… here.” 

Mirka hands a teary-eyed four-year-old to Roger swiftly and turns back to Myla who was now whining about how unfair this all was. Roger’s knees nearly buckled as he tried not to drop Lenny. 

He had forgotten how heavy they were becoming. He adjusted the small boy in his arms so he was facing him. Lenny stared at him, unamused. Roger turned to Rafa, half apologetically, half unsurely. Yes, Roger had dealt with many a stubbed toe back in the day… but now here they were, and everything was somehow so very, very different. 

Rafa shrugged his shoulders helplessly. Roger shakily rocked Lenny, standing in place. Yes, this was his four-year-old, but maybe rocking him in a way would calm him down? 

After ten seconds, Roger could feel Lenny’s heartbeat starting to steady. Unsure of what to do next, he just continued with his rocking idea. It wasn’t even really rocking, just holding Lenny and moving from side to side. But it worked. After five more seconds of silence, Rafa motioned hesitantly to Roger. 

“Can I… can I hold him? Please?” 

Rafa’s voice stuttered, but his eyes remained clear and bright. Roger couldn’t say no. 

Wordlessly, he handed his son over to Rafa. Lenny protested slightly.

“Papa…” he whispered softly. 

Roger shook his head slightly, and gave the wheel to Rafa. Rafa held Lenny with a great caution about him. Every breath was measured and each muscle, tense and in place. Regardless of nerves, Rafa allowed a warm smile. It was directed genuinely to the now sleepy stubbed toe victim. Roger watched him struggle to keep his eyes open.

“Someone didn’t sleep on the plane,” Rafa observed adoringly. 

The smile didn’t leave his face. Lenny nodded his head proudly at the fact. Rafa laughed. It was a full, real laugh. It was a laugh Roger hadn’t heard in a while. 

Rafa whispered something in the little boy’s ear, that made him laugh in turn. He held Lenny closely and warmly. The tense muscles were slowly unwinding. 

Lenny seemed to like Rafa, as well. Ten seconds later, they were in the middle of an animated conversation. All Roger could do was stand back and watch. He was totally fine with that. The scene before him was completely melting his heart. 

He made eye contact with Mirka, behind Rafa and Lenny, who was sternly lecturing Myla. She paused from her speech and turned to look at Rafa and Lenny’s heartwarming interaction. 

After five seconds of observing their giggles and whispers, she turned back to Roger with a bittersweet smile on her face. She glanced back at the pair, and nodded. Roger smiled back. 

They were all getting along so well… so much better than he thought, so much better than he could ever hope for. He… Roger didn’t want to say it but he did. Rafa was like… a father. Rafa was a father and… he was absolutely amazing at it. 

Rafa hadn’t noticed that Roger and Mirka, and now Carlos and Maribel who had stopped to witness, were still watching him. The looks were adoring and heartfelt. Carlos had started shaking his head amusedly.

Tony approached Roger sideways, and tapped him on the shoulder. Tony had walked away two minutes ago to call Rafa’s father, who had offered to drive them all home. Rafa’s grandparents had opted out. 

Roger turned to Tony, breaking the Rafa-Lenny trance. Tony cleared his throat. Then everyone turned to him, even Rafa and Lenny. Rafa, who looked a little sheepish but had a new going in his eye, and Lenny, who still looked tired but his lips were turned up in a smile. 

“I just got off the phone with your father, Rafa,” Tony informed. 

“He said… there was an accident in the road ahead of him. There’s a lot of traffic and he won’t get here in time. He says we should… probably find a taxi.” 

The group that had gathered around him collectively groaned. 

“A taxi? For all of us?” 

Maribel asked skeptically. Their entourage consisted of at least twenty people. The team members, the family members, and the two players were most certainly not all going to fit in one taxi. Mirka shook her head. 

“There’s gotta be a van or something…” 

She looked at Tony hopefully. He sighed pensively.

“You’re probably right. I’ll go see if I can rent one. Or… two,” he added, acknowledging the size of their group. 

Tony nodded his head and walked off again. 

Sure enough, twenty minutes later, everyone had piled into two passenger vans. Tony was driving one, and Rafa’s mother drove the other. The ride had been calculated to last forty-five minutes. Setting up all the twins’ booster seats took an extra twenty minutes. Those contraptions never failed to confuse Roger. 

In the end, Rafa sat with Roger in the second to last row of the first van. Lenny was in his seat right next to them. The little boy had passed out sometime between being handed the keys and getting the boosters latched in. Rafa studied him quietly, before turning to Roger. 

“I love them, Roger.” He smiled brightly and calmly. Roger smiled back and kissed his boyfriend.

“That makes three of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked this chapter! It was a very adorable one to write. Is adorable even a word used to describe writing? I have no idea. Anyways... comments and kudos are the greatest notifications I see in the morning. If you have any feedback of any kind, feel free to write something! As always, chapter 32 will be up tomorrow!


	32. Truthfully Observed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the next chapter! It starts out from Roger’s POV for a bit, then we switch off to a different conversation. You’ll see what I mean. 
> 
> Also, the only things I know about Rafa’s house are from his autobiography. I probably messed something up there, so don’t quote me on it! 
> 
> Alright, that’s it. Enjoy! :)

An hour later, two passenger vans pulled up to the Nadal residence. The towering, four story building engulfed the driveway in shade. The shade was faded, itself. The sky was too grey for any real shade to become apparent. There were little dots on the ground where the rain had fallen, is falling, and is going to fall. Luckily, it was only a slight drizzle, but Roger could tell the worst was still to come. 

After dropping up Carlos and the rest of Rafa’s team off at their houses, they had headed straight for the Nadals’ home. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Roger exited from the sliding door on the side of the van. He was followed by Rafa, who was carrying Lenny again. Then came Charlene and Myla. They were nearly silent. 

It was almost as if they had felt the unspoken tension in the air and reacted to it. Maybe they just did. Maybe nine-year-olds were smarter than he sometimes thought. They never failed to surprise him. 

Leo was also fast asleep, and Mirka unbuckled him from his booster seat and handed him to Roger, without a word. She smiled tightly at him. He tried to smile back, but he was pretty sure it came out more as a grimace. Nerves had taken hold of him. The closer and closer the group got to the front door, the more shatteringly panicked Roger became.

Rafa’s mother got out her keys and slowly opened the door. It wasn’t slow enough. Within seconds, the door was open, and the seemingly vacant Nadal residence beckoned them in. 

Their footsteps echoed noisily as they crossed the hardwood floor in the front room. Rafa led the group, Lenny in his arms. 

Roger had heard Rafa talk about his home before. He had explained it as an apartment of sorts. Each level was its own house where some of his family lived. They were all together, in this miniature tower. 

This idea was fascinating to Roger. It was complex and simple at the same time. It was definitely fitting for Rafa. Roger couldn’t see him living any other way. But Rafa always had described this home as ‘bustling’ and ‘loud’. At the present moment, you could probably hear a pin drop. 

“Rafa,” Roger whispered, partly because he didn’t want to wake Leo and Lenny, and partially because the house seemed to quiet not to whisper and break it. 

“Where… where is everyone else? You said this place would be loud…” 

Behind him, Maribel laughed. 

“This place is loud usually. But nobody loud is home now. Our father is in traffic, our uncle Miguel Ángel is in Sóller, for work, Toni is probably at the academy, and we just get here, so that is that.” 

She shrugged dismissively as they turned right and started slowly trekking up a flight of stairs. Rafa nodded his head in agreement. Roger’s shoulders relaxed in relief. He wouldn’t need to see anyone else. Not now, at least. On the second level, Maribel and her mother remained.

“This is our stop,” she joked lightly. 

Smiling hesitantly at Roger before studying Rafa quizzically. She eyed the sleeping boy in his arms. 

“You are going up with them?” She asked quietly, with a raised eyebrow. 

Rafa shrugged faintly, as not to jostle Lenny.

“For… now, I go up.” 

Maribel and their mother nodded approvingly, before collapsing tiredly on the couch. They sat in peace for a moment, until the footsteps on the staircase were nothing but a distant echo. Maribel sighed exhaustedly. 

“The weather sucks,” she observed lamely, while picking at the seam in one of the bright yellow pillows occupying the couch. 

Her mother shook her head.

“It does, I suppose.” 

There was a slight trace of a smile on her face as she continued staring at the spot where Rafa had just been with Roger seconds ago. Maribel took a deep breath. 

“You’re smiling,” she stated. “We… you never really talked about Rafael and Roger Federer. You aren’t saying anything about them.” 

It was true, after the news had broke out, there was very little time to stop and try to discuss things. Those first few days had all been a blur. Maribel wasn’t sure exactly what she thought of the whole situation either. 

Now that her thoughts had been sorted, she found that she wasn’t really opposed to her brother being with Roger Federer. Even if this fact was hard to comprehend. It was still a fact that needed to be acknowledged. Sure, Maribel was still slightly wary of this tennis player she had only known of as Roger Federer, grand slam champion. Hearing Rafael say his name though, it was as if Roger were someone else entirely. 

All these years, he wasn’t just a grand slam champion to her brother. It had taken an illegal video to help her figure that out. It was embarrassing really, that she hasn’t even heard the truth from him. No, he would’ve probably kept this secret forever. And this fact astounded Maribel. 

Her brother was absolutely terrible at keeping secrets. That was why she had always trusted him. But now… she didn’t know what to think. This was all too complicated. But at the end of the day, her brother was smiling and holding a sleeping boy in his arms. 

Did it matter that this was not his real son? Not to him, it didn’t. And there was something poetic, something beautiful about that. Maribel couldn’t be mad forever. Not when her brother was so in love. She could only be happy for him now. He needed someone to be happy for him, in times like these. 

But their mother had remained silent through it all. At least, as far as she knew. Her mother shook her head. 

“I did speak with Rafael, in London. He said everything he wanted to say, and I listened.” 

Maribel nodded.

“And…?” She prompted. 

Her mother smiled.

“And, I have agreed to support him. I am his mother. It is technically my job.” 

She smiled softly at that. Maribel relaxed relievedly. 

“I just wanted to know… that’s all. Papa still hasn’t said anything.” 

Her mother’s mood darkened again. 

“Yes well, he is bound to have something to say later. Traffic doesn’t last forever… in some cases.”

She shrugged dismissively. 

“I’m sure he is fine with it. He’s just shocked, that’s all.” 

Maribel nodded in agreement. 

“You’re probably right. I just… I don’t want them to be sad, if things don’t work out,” she lightly decided to put it. 

“If they have a fallout?” Her mother asked. 

Maribel shook her head slowly.

“No… well, yes I guess, but… if Papa says no, what will Rafa do?” 

She looked down sadly. Her mother pursed her lips and shook her head.

“Maribel, if Toni said yes, then your Papa will definitely give the thought consideration. I would bet on it, if I were you. There are good chances.” 

Maribel rolled her eyes.

“That’s true… Toni did miraculously approve. I guess they’ll be fine then.” 

She nodded hopefully. Her mother smiled back. 

“Judging by the way things are going, a fallout seems highly unlikely as well.” 

She turned back in the direction of the stairs. Then she looked pensive, before finally adding: 

“I’ve always wanted grandchildren.” 

Maribel turned to face her incredulously. 

“What did you just say?!” 

She let out a shocked laugh. Her mother laughed slightly too.

“I am saying Roger’s sons, the ones in their arms, they were very cute. All four of them were cute.” 

There was a playful twinkle in her eye. Maribel scoffed. 

“Those kids aren’t even his!” She interjected. 

Her mother shook her head.

“They seem like they are, don’t they?” 

Maribel has to give in at that. 

“Yeah. They do.” 

Her mother sighed satisfiedly. 

“I wonder when they will get… no, never mind.” 

Maribel halted her train of thought abruptly and shook her head quickly, laughing nervously. Her mother seemed to know what she had almost said. 

She was about to respond when they heard the front door opening on the floor below them.

“Hello?” 

Sebastian Nadal called out into the house. 

“I’m home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, there will definitely be a couple confrontations. This chapter hosted a conversation that needed to be had. I hope you all liked it! If so, comments and kudos are great! If maybe not so much, comments can help feedback wise! The next chapter will be up tomorrow! 
> 
> Also: Good luck at the Swiss Indoors, Roger!


	33. Belief Barricades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a lot going on in this latest installment! With all the ‘explaining why we hid our love for ten years’ things going on, you’d think Rafa and Roger get bored of it all. Maybe their families and teams are secret press conferences in disguise? Okay wow I’m tired... Anyways... enjoy this chapter!

Rafa, Roger, Tony, and Mirka has just gotten the four twins to take a much needed nap when they heard Sebastian Nadal calling from downstairs, announcing his presence. 

Rafa shared a nervous look with Roger, who smiled encouragingly. The words has been in Spanish, but ‘I’m home,’ was probably a phrase one could piece together given the context. Rafa’s father had entered the building. 

Mirka pursed her lips. She suddenly looked very deep in thought. Tony Godsick eyes the staircase outside the doorway that led to the first floor. Then he looked at Rafa questioningly. They were all silent. Then they heard Maribel greet her father from the floor below them. 

“Papa! We are upstairs,” Rafa heard her say. 

Judging by the confused looks around him, translating would not be fun. He turned to Roger with mock exasperation. 

“You don’t know? I teach you these words, remember? I show you what they mean. What did he just say?” 

Rafa crossed his arms and waited expectantly, a knowing smile on his face. Rafa also knew that Roger was absolutely terrible at Spanish. He was almost as bad with Spanish as Rafa used to be and still sometimes is with English. 

But this situation was tense and tight. Rafa needed to distract Roger, distract himself, from the inevitable conversation awaiting him on the first floor. Roger only shook his head defensively.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about… I always remember what you teach me in Spanish and I don’t usually ever forget anything so maybe you’re just a bad teacher…” 

He managed to get all that out with a straight face before a giggle escaped and he smiled sheepishly. Rafa smiled back warmly. Roger’s giggling was, without contest, the happiest sound in the world. If Rafa heard it, he knew that he must be doing something right. 

In the doorway, Tony cleared his throat. Rafa and Roger turned to him and Mirka slowly. She was shaking her head, and Tony was silently motioning for them to start heading down. Tony, Mirka, and Roger made their way out of the door.

Rafa remained a second longer to make sure that the twins were all sound asleep. He gazed peacefully at their resting figures. Then, nodding to himself in approval, he turned around and came face to face with Roger, who was still waiting in the doorway. He was smiling too. 

“They really do love you, Rafa,” he whispered softly, motioning to the four sleeping Federers. 

Rafa sighed peacefully.

“I really love them, too.” 

Then Roger and Rafa smiled softly at each other again, for what had to be the ten millionth time that day. Their moment was broken when they heard Rafa’s father yell again from downstairs.

“Rafael! Get down here!” He called in Spanish. 

Rafa’s face tensed a little. The tone of his father’s voice gave absolutely nothing away. It was completely neutral. Rafa couldn’t tell if he would hug or yell at him once he got downstairs. He could only hope it would be the former. 

After sharing one last hesitant glance, Rafa and Roger made their way down the stairs, hand in hand. 

As Rafa reached the bottom of the stairs with Roger, his father came into view. He was awkwardly trying to close his soaking wet umbrella. Mirka and Toni were beside him to the right, avoiding the puddle of water that had accumulated under the man’s boots. 

All three of them turned to look up at Rafa and Roger. Rafa’s father stopped fumbling with the umbrella and stared at them curiously. He set it down on the ground and stood up straight. 

Rafa faltered in his steps. For one terrible second, Rafa wanted to desperately let go of Roger’s hand and walk shamefully along the other side of the stairs. The thought was banished quickly though, and Rafa inwardly shook his head. He would not be a coward. Not now. 

Defiantly, Rafa tightened his grip on Roger’s hand and stared his father right back in the eye. He was prepared for anything that the older man might throw at them. Slowly, but surely, he and Roger descended the staircase. They didn’t break contact once, and Rafa was proud of that. 

Rafa’s father studied them silently. His eyes traveled to their joined hands, and then to the unwavering confidence written on their faces. His set frown softened into something not unlike a smile. Mirka and Tony looked back and forth between the two parties, examining and taking note of the first reactions. 

Finally, his father spoke up.

“Two months ago, if you told me I’d be seeing this now… I would tell you you’re crazy,” he stated in Spanish. 

Roger turned to Rafa helplessly, not understanding a word of it. Rafa took a deep breath, and turned back to his father.

“I am sorry Papa, but Roger can’t understand,” he answered in English. 

“He doesn’t really… know Spanish well,” he settled for as an adequate response. 

“Should I… continue in English then?” 

Rafa’s father switched to English. It certainly wasn’t anything amazing, but it wasn’t any worse than Rafa’s. Therefore, Roger could definitely comprehend now. Roger nodded gratefully, still silent. 

“As I was saying,” Rafa’s father continued. “I am just surprised, that is all. I never would think. I never would know.” 

He furrowed his brow slightly and shook his head. Then at that moment, Maribel and their mother appeared at the top of the stairs. They studied the room below them unsurely, before eventually descending silently. 

Then they stood next to Mirka and Tony. Rafa could see them whispering to each other, but he couldn’t pick up what they were saying together. His father had watched them out of the corner of his eye, but then continued speaking. 

“I wish you would have said something Rafael. It is not fair to your family and I to find out about this,” he gestures to Rafa and Roger’s conjoined hands, “through sketchy news articles and untrustworthy sources. You never told us anything. For the past ten years, nothing. Before, you can’t even lie about a missing assignment… and now we hear this?” 

He shook his head sternly. 

“I don’t understand it.” 

Rafa lowered his head lamely. This was another variant of the question he had heard from everyone else. Why did they do this? How could they do this? It almost seemed as if no one cared that he was in love with Roger Federer, they were just mad that he had never told them about it. 

They had every right to ask these questions. Rafa only wished he had a good enough answer for them. But he could still try to think of something, anything to say so that he could try to explain this mess to his father. 

“Papa, I really wish I could answer this with a good response. I don’t know, but I will try,” Rafa started off shakily. 

“We love each other for ten years. Wimbledon locker room. 2008. Everybody know,” he stated bitterly. 

This, he had said too many times before. 

“We can not tell anyone because we do not know ourselves, what we are doing. But that is only excuse for the beginning… For past couple years we tell almost no one because”-

“What do you mean by *almost* no one?” Maribel interjected suspiciously. 

Rafa took a deep breath. He was almost hoping no one would catch that.

“...Andy Roddick and Serena Williams?” 

It came out as a question, really. But it was all everyone needed to hear for a shocked expression to be upon all their faces. Sometimes, Rafa forgot that no one actually knew that Andy and Serena knew. They just made the situation seem so… normal and acceptable that it was easy to pretend that everyone was living in a happy, carefree, fib-free land. 

They still hadn’t publicly commented, and for that Rafa was grateful. But the room before him had no idea, and now there was yet another thing to explain. This whole situation would be funny, if it weren’t so insufferable. 

Mirka shook her head in disbelief. 

“You mean to tell us that Andy Roddick and Serena Williams knew that you two were together? For… for how long?!” She asked incredulously. 

Rafa saw Roger shrink in his spot as he answered hesitantly.

“Eight… years…?” 

He shrugged apologetically. Mirka’s mouth opened in shock. Then she closed it, and shook her head quickly. She laughed bitterly.

“Is there anything else you’re not telling us, now? Did Djokovic know? Or better yet, did you have a thing with him too? Huh?” 

She nearly growled that last bit. Roger paled, Rafa paled. Novak Djokovic. No thanks. They shook their heads rapidly in unison. She watched them amusedly. 

“Fine. No Djokovic then. But I still don’t see why you had any right to keep anything else from us for ten years,” she prodded. 

Rafa started off where he had been interrupted earlier. 

“Like I was saying, these past few years are busy years. They are also unsure years. We were not sure if… if what we had was real or not. We never wanted to say anything, because we didn’t want anyone finding out, only to break us apart. Or maybe we break apart and you get mad because of this. Or maybe you are mad that we already keep secret for a little time and we get in more trouble. I am not sure why we did not tell anyone. We just didn’t.” 

Rafa scuffed his feet along the hardwood floor. 

“But now,” he continued in a noticeably warmer tone. 

“Now that everyone does know, things are difficult but also, everything is better. There is no pressure from a secret. There is freedom, now. We didn’t have freedom before. Now, we are not going to be silent. We are not going to lie any longer.” 

Rafa looked at Roger during the last part. They smiled at each other, as the unspoken agreement was made between them. Then, Rafa turned back to his father. 

“That is all I have to say,” he concluded with a small smile. 

His father smiled back. His mother, his sister, Mirka, and Tony, they all smiled back. They understood, and they accepted. 

If you had told Rafa a couple years prior that he’d be using his weak command of the English language to persuade a room full of skeptical figures in his life to understand why he has lied to them for the past ten years, he would definitely not believe you. 

Roger might believe you, though. He always knew Rafa could do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was kind of a fun one to write. There are lots of different types of characters, and it was interesting to try and get each interaction specific to them. I hope you all liked it! Maybe you’ll even drop a comment or kudo? ;) Anyways, thanks for reading! Chapter 34 will be up same time same place tomorrow!


	34. Undefined Relations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I couldn’t get an update out yesterday! I was dragged to a concert... and homework decided to be a pain... but enough about my nonexistent punctuality! Here’s the next chapter. I hope you all like it!

Dinner that evening was lively. The Nadals were definitely not to be known as a quiet family. Their animated conversations across the dinner table were accented by the rain pattering on the windows. The night grew late, and Mirka excused herself to take their already sleepy children and put them into bed. 

Roger offered to go with her, but she she shook her head, almost apologetically.  
“I got this one, Rog,” she had said with a small smile, before disappearing for the night. 

Roger spent the rest of the evening next to Rafa, unsuccessfully trying to decode all the Spanish surrounding him, and sighing in relief when the next sentence was in English. 

It was about half past eleven when the rain outside intensified, the first clashes of thunder were heard, and Rafa’s mother brought out dessert. It seemed to be some sort of cake. Upon further investigation, an almond flavor was found apparent. It was very good, and Roger even considered calling Mirka down to try some. 

But he thought better of it. The kids were probably (hopefully) sleeping, and chances are, she was too. There would probably be leftovers at breakfast anyways… Then Roger watches as the pieces of the cake are efficiently and effectively devoured by the Nadal clan. Maybe not. 

Gradually, everyone got up and left the table. Roger lifted his plate and started walking towards the kitchen sink. Rafa was there already. Roger’s steps lightened and he sped up a little to get there before Rafa left. They hadn’t been alone all evening.

When Rafa noticed Roger, he smiled brightly and turned around.

“What do you think of the dinner?” He inquired warmly. 

Now, if this were a press conference, he would have a definitive ‘It was a great evening’ waiting for the nosy reporter. But this was Rafa, and Roger would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit overwhelmed by it all. 

The dinner itself had been lovely, really. It’s just… with all the Spanish and all the people around the table that had been lied to for ten years… something felt a little off. Roger voiced these concerns.

“The dinner part, that was pretty good. That almond cake at the end was delicious,” he stalled. 

Roger mentally slapped himself. So much for being open. Rafa saw right through this façade, and Roger was almost glad of it.

“And the rest of the evening? What did you think?” He asked in a calm, understanding voice. 

“Everyone was so nice Rafa, so nice. For me though… it was almost overwhelming. It didn’t feel right, to be there with them after so many years of lying,” Roger lowered his head disappointedly. 

Rafa looked as if he was about to interject. Roger continued before he could start. 

“I know, we’re all open and everything now, and I know that they are accepting us and I should be totally grateful for that it just… it feels off.” He shrugged guiltily. 

Rafa shook his head and answered softly.

“Of course is going to feel off. We are still getting used to it. This is one day, and there will be many more where it will be easier. It gets easier. It is hard now, for me too, but will get easier.” 

At that, Rafa smiled encouragingly. Roger managed a small smile back. It was hard not to smile when Rafa looked at him like that. 

“You’re right… you’re right. It will just take time, that’s all.” 

With that, Roger nodded confidently and smiled shakily at Rafa. 

“I guess we still have a ways to go then,” he attempted to grasp the concept of the amount of time it would take for a sense of normalcy. 

Rafa looked thoughtful for a second, before answering.

“There will always be a ways to go. For everyone all the time. We can only improve, no?” 

He smiled softly and shrugged his shoulders. Roger laughed faintly.

“Yeah, that… I guess that makes sense.” 

That was the last thing said between them, before the space between them was nonexistent and they were kissing. The passionate moment was interrupted when they heard someone clear their throat behind them. 

Rafa froze, Roger froze, and they both slowly turned to face Maribel who was holding her plate, and had an amused look on her face. 

“Oh don’t mind me,” she started with a small smile. 

“I’m just going to… put this plate here,” she set it noisily into the sink. 

Roger felt Rafa wince at the noise it made, coming in contact with the dishes below it. Roger peered into the sink hesitantly. No broken plates for the time being. Good. He turned back to Maribel, who was now rolling her eyes.

“The plate is not broken, it’s always loud like that. That’s just the way the sink is,” she felt like adding. 

She smirked, before turning to Rafa and telling him something in rapid fire Spanish that Roger most certainly could not understand. He did see Rafa blush profusely and shake his head to nobody in particular as Maribel walked away, laughing quietly to herself. Roger raised an eyebrow.

“What’d she tell you, Rafa?” He asked impatiently. 

Rafa went even more red, if possible. 

“She just was saying that… that you should go to bed because it’s late, and, um… and you looked tired,” he ended up responding after an internal conflict that was evident on his face. 

Roger knew that this probably wasn’t exactly what she had said, but the day had been long. Ironically, he was too tired to find out. Much to the apparent relief on Rafa’s face, Roger nodded dismissively. 

“Okay… let's go up then,” was punctuated with a yawn. 

Little did Roger know, Maribel had just said: “Go take your husband to bed, he looks too tired to function elsewhere,” before smirking as she walked away. 

No way was Rafa going to repeat that. It was times like these, when he was glad that Roger was absolutely terrible at Spanish. Husband… where did Maribel come up with these things? The answer was beyond him. 

Wordlessly, Roger followed Rafa up to the second story. They entered Rafa’s cluttered room. Roger observed it all, amusedly. Yes, he’d seen all of Rafa’s hotel rooms. No, none of them were very neat. At all. But still, when one thinks of Rafael Nadal, they think ‘clean’ and ‘organized’. That might be ‘on court Rafa’, but ‘off court Rafa’ was a completely different story. 

Seeing Rafa’s cluttered room just made Roger glad that he did get to know the ‘off court Rafa’, and all the quirks that went with him. These small little things were sometimes all they had of each other. But there are still fine lines between ‘poetic’ and ‘tornado ravaged’. Rafa’s room has definitely crossed that line. 

There were piles of clothes strewn about on various chairs and desks. The walls were a soft blue, and contrasted angrily with all the bright orange gear tossed by the window. The windows were open, and the chill hit Roger the second he entered the room. 

He turned to Rafa quizzically. Rafa looked back, sheepishly. He shivered, before going over to the window and closing it. Roger sighed.

“You would think that the Mediterranean would be warm and sunny year round…” He observed with a hint of bitterness. 

“I’m surprised it hasn’t frozen over,” he added with a small laugh. 

Rafa shook his head.

“The beach is still here, no? There are less people, but is still here. And still beautiful,” he smiled wistfully. 

“And cold,” Roger added with a laugh. 

“Yes, and cold,” Rafa greed, his smile shining brightly. 

“Tomorrow,” he nodded slowly. 

“Tomorrow I take you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked this chapter! The part with Maribel was probably one of my favorites to write. ;) If you have any feedback of any kind, a comment would be greatly appreciated. If you don’t feel like commenting, a kudo works too! Thank you for reading! The next chapter will be up tomorrow!
> 
> Also: Sending more good luck to Roger in Basel! (Sadly, this year, he kinda needs it.)


	35. Rise and Shine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get out a chapter yesterday! I was busier than I thought I’d be... but I hope this chapter makes up for it! I don’t know what to say about this one, except that it is complete and utter fluff. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It was still dark outside, when Rafa gently shook Roger awake from his deep slumber. He mumbled halfheartedly, and turned to stare at Rafa accusingly. 

“What… time is it?” 

The Spaniard could barely comprehend the slurred words. He reached over to the nightstand next to the bed and checked his phone. 

“It’s six. Not too early,” Rafa whispered gently. “Now come on, get up. It’s time to go the beach,” he chimed cheerfully. 

Roger grumbled in protest, burying his face deeper into the pillow. Rafa shook his head. 

“Come on, I say we should go the beach yesterday, so now we go.” 

Roger lifted his head up from the pillow. He looked up at Rafa pleadingly.

“Can we just go… at like, noon or something? Why so early? The sun isn’t even up,” he argued tiredly. “I’m exhausted, Rafa.” 

Roger shook his head convincingly. Well, Rafa wasn’t having any of it.

“No. Roger, we go now,” he firmly insisted. 

“Why?” Roger asked, still not understanding. “We’re up before the sun… on a holiday. Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?” 

Rafa rolled his eyes, a smile grew upon his face. 

“Because Roger, we are watching the sun rise. We cannot do that if the sun is already in the sky, no? Also, because of the storms, there will be lots of glass, sea glass, on the beach for us to collect. It sounded fun, but if you don’t want to go…” Rafa continued playfully. 

Roger shook his head quickly, suddenly more awake.

“No! No… that sounds good! I’m… I’m coming, I’m coming,” he quickly got up out of the bed. 

He observed Rafa for a moment, who was clad in a T-shirt and shorts already. 

“First, let me change. Then, we can go.” 

Rafa’s smile widened along with Roger’s.

“Perfect,” he exclaimed. “I have breakfast packed for us.” He beamed proudly. 

Roger shook his head and laughed.

“Let me guess,” he began, “...Nutella and toast?” 

He raised an eyebrow, and Rafa blushed as he lowered his head.

“...Maybe,” he mumbled, nearly incoherently. 

Roger sighed amusedly.

“I knew it.” He smirked. “Always so predictable.” 

Roger playfully shook his head. Rafa blushed even more. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Rafa interjected. “What about when I just surprised you by waking you up at six am, remember?” 

He crossed his arms across his chest and attempted (failed) to to look stern and serious. 

Roger froze for a second, but then continued his plight.

“It’s not the same! When have you not had Nutella on toast for breakfast? Go ahead, tell me.” 

Roger smirked. Rafa was about to answer, but Roger interjected once more. 

“Match days don’t count,” he added quickly. 

Then he smiled innocently at Rafa, who glared half heartedly at him, before looking deep in thought for a few moments. Then his face lit up brightly. 

“There was once! Two years ago I think… I had a waffle and… and jam! So there.” 

He smiled defiantly and victoriously at Roger, who shook his head in defeat.

“Alright, alright, fine. *Once* you didn’t have Nutella for breakfast. I’m so proud,” he teased lightly, laughing at his boyfriend’s determination to prove him wrong. It was admirable… and adorable. 

“Give me a second, I’m coming,” he assured Rafa, who nodded excitedly and nearly skipped out of the room. 

Roger peered out the window again, curiously. Now that his eyes had semi-adjusted to the dark, he could see that the rain had stopped falling. The silence on his ears was very welcome, as well. Slowly, he cranked the window open. The breeze that entered was chilly, but refreshing. 

Quickly, Roger changed. He made sure to grab a light jacket. He met Rafa in the otherwise empty kitchen on the first floor. No one else seemed to be up yet. Rafa grinned at Roger proudly, as he held up a woven picnic basket. Roger laughed.

“We’re getting serious now, I see,” he gestured towards the basket. “I haven’t seen one of those for ten years,” Roger observed amusedly. “This must be some picnic you have planned.” 

Rafa blushed. 

“It is just a small picnic… but it is at the beach, so hopefully is good.” He shrugged warmly. 

“I’m sure it will be,” Roger nodded assuredly. 

Then, the two of them got into Rafa’s Kia and drove to Cala Mandia, a usually popular tourist destination. 

During the summer months, this beach was always teeming with tourists from all corners of the planet. Roger knew this, because it was always the beach that Rafa and Roger never dared go to, in fear of being seen. 

Now, it was winter. The temperature frequently dipped below fifteen degrees Celsius. No one else would be there. And even if there was someone? It wasn’t like there was much to hide… anymore. 

And of course, fifteen degrees had nothing on Switzerland’s winter temps. In fact, the weather was probably one of the reasons Mirka had even agreed to come to Mallorca. 

But now, even Roger wished it were a little warmer. It was still dark out, and he could definitely mistake the time for late evening. The sun was still out of view, but there was a little light peeking through the horizon in the east. 

The ride was somewhat uneventful, but Rafa’s hesitant and overly cautious driving was quite amusing. Especially considering there was barely anyone else even on the road. 

Fifteen minutes passed before Rafa slowly inched into the desired parking spot. He put the car in park and breathed a sigh of relief. The tenseness in his shoulders that was existent when he drove, was gone. Rafa smiled apologetically at Roger.

“Sorry… it’s so slow. I… it’s a habit,” he explained regretfully. 

Roger shook his head softly.

“No! No your driving’s fine, Rafa. Look at it this way—you won’t have to worry about ever getting a speeding ticket or something like that,” Roger tried a route of optimism. 

Rafa shrugged thoughtfully.

“I guess,” he answered finally. 

There was a small smile on his face. Then he looked down at the picnic basket on the floor of the car. He grabbed it excitedly and turned to Roger. 

“Let’s go,” he exclaimed happily. 

The the two of them exited the car and headed down a few wooden steps to the sandy shores of Cala Mandia. Now, a sliver of the golden sun was rising from the horizon. 

“Good,” Rafa started, shivering a little. 

He set the bag down and took out a blanket that he put on the sand. He sat down on it, and motioned for Roger to sit next to him. 

“We’re just in time.”

Rafa and Roger silently watched the sun climb up into the sky. The world around them slowly lit up too. The sun did little to nothing about the temperature, but it was definitely a few degrees warmer. Roger noticed that Rafa had never stopped shivering. He shook his head sympathetically and sighed.

“And why exactly didn’t you bring a jacket?” He asked amusedly. 

Rafa looked at him in surprise, the shrugged dismissively. 

“It’s not that cold,” he insisted. 

The shivering only intensified. 

“Are… are you sure?” Roger tried again. 

Rafa was never known to be one who gave in to discomfort. Rafa nodded unconvincingly, rocking back and forth on the blanket.

“I’m fine,” he smiled tightly. 

Roger sighed exhaustedly and contemplated his options. Finally, he continued.

“Okay, this is going to sound really cliché but…”

“Cliché?” Rafa interrupted confusedly. 

“Um… Stereotypical? Cheesy? Basic?” Roger tried again. 

Rafa hesitantly nodded. Roger continued. 

“Anyways… do you… do you want my jacket?” 

The last part came out in a rush. Roger blushed profusely. Rafa cocked his head. 

“Do I… want your jacket?” He repeated unsurely. 

Roger nodded nervously at the speed of light.

“Yeah, um, just for… now. You’re cold, aren’t you?” Roger asked defensively. The blush only deepened in color. 

Rafa finally seemed to understand what Roger was asking, and the color of his cheeks turned rosier. It probably wasn’t just from the frigid air of the early morning. He made eye contact with Roger briefly, before turning down to play with the sand.

“Okay,” he whispered so softly that Roger could barely hear. “I… if you really want to give me your jacket… sure.” 

He shrugged in embarrassment and smiled bashfully. Roger smiled bashfully, back. He quickly took off his jacket and handed it to Rafa. He started putting it on, before pausing. 

“Wait… won’t you be cold now?” He asked in uncertainty. 

Roger shook his head.

“Trust me, I’m used to much colder weather in Switzerland,” he responded, with a reassuring smile. 

Rafa slowly nodded, and continued zipping up the jacket.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly. 

“It’s nothing,” Roger replied. “You can always repay me in Nutella toast, right?” 

At that, Rafa laughed a little. The awkwardness from before has immediately vanished from his face.

“I thought you said it is too predictable, no?” Rafa asked suspiciously. 

Roger shrugged. 

“I never said I had anything in particular against it…” he replied teasingly. “I am quite fond of Nutella toast,” he continued. 

Rafa rolled his eyes.

“Okay, I am glad. Just eat and don’t complain then.” 

He smiled amusedly. Roger opened the basket and took out the Nutella jar eagerly.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to warn you... it was basically all fluff. I hope you all liked it! It was definitely fun to write. :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are amazing encouragement and are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> Chapter 36 will (almost certainly) be up tomorrow!
> 
> Also: GOOD LUCK IN THE FINALS, ROGER!


	36. Adversity Prep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I’m just going to YELL AND BE HAPPY BECAUSE ROGER WON THE SWISS INDOORS!!!! Yeah I know it’s just a 500 tournament, but it’s his first win since June, and his 99th title. It was a reason to celebrate! 
> 
> This chapter starts off as a meaningful conversation disguised as fluff and then just turns into a meaningful conversation because we totally needed another one of those. Progress! 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! ;)

There was a peaceful silence as Rafa and Roger observed the sunrise. Nutella toast had been prepared and eaten, milk had been downed, and now they were just… sitting, waiting for the sun to provide something remotely close to heat. 

They had probably been there for half an hour, when Rafa suddenly got up and reached his hand out for Roger to grab. Which he did, hesitantly. Rafa hoisted him from the ground.

“Come on, let’s walk,” he offered. 

Roger nodded happily.

“Sure.”

They started walking slowly, along the shoreline, hand in hand. It was almost like one of those sappy romance movies… only this was real. There was sand beneath his feet and a hand in his. The salty breeze tousled his hair. 

When he turned to the right, he could see the vast, blue Mediterranean Sea. And when he turned to the left, he came face to face with the most beautiful man he had ever seen. Rafa’s smile was arguably brighter than the sun and warmer than it would be on a summer afternoon. This was definitely better than any movie.

Then, Roger’s eyes lit up. Among the various pebbles and stones dotting the sandy surface, there was a fragmental shimmer. He stopped and bent down to retrieve the smoothened shard before the waves claimed it. He held the turquoise lump up to the sun. 

“Sea glass,” he whispered happily.

“I told you it wouldn’t be hard to find any,” Rafa smiled proudly. 

“There’s nobody else here, and because of the storm, the waves toss up the sand. It’s the perfect time to find some.” 

He stopped and bent down to pick some more up. He held up the bright green fragment. 

“See? What I tell you—easy.” 

Rafa and Roger fell into a routine, walking along quietly while stopping frequently to pick up sea glass. Their hands grew full, and they routinely had to go back to drop their pieces into the picnic basket. 

But as the bits became further and far between, their steps slowed and conversation started up again. This time, the mood was more solemn than lighthearted.

“So… are you ready for Brisbane?” Roger ventured delicately. 

Rafa looked at him thoughtfully, and nodded.

“I think so, I hope so. I am not sure how everyone… will react.” He answered quietly. 

“I’m still worried about that too,” Roger agreed. 

“With all the press and players and fans… things will definitely be different.” He lowered his head sadly. “And probably not always a good different, either,” he added with a grimace.

“Are your sponsors… staying?” Rafa asked hesitantly. 

Roger nodded slowly.

“Yeah. Most of them, at least,” he kicked at the sand frustratedly. That stupid watch company… 

“Rolex?” Rafa guessed sadly.

“Rolex,” Roger replied. 

Rafa was about to respond, but Roger continued in a lighter tone. 

“It’s just one company, Rafa. Really, I don’t need them. I… I don’t. It’s okay. I still have until the end of this contract… which is April, I think. All the other ones are staying. What… what about you?” 

Roger turned the question back to Rafa, who shrugged. 

“No one cut sponsorship so… all is good,” he responded with a small smile. 

“What I am most worried about are the players,” he continued quietly. 

“How can we know, that there isn’t another Stakhovsky among them?” 

He shook his head sadly. Roger sighed.

“That’s… yeah, you’re right. It’s not like we’ve ever had to worry about this before. Who knows how they’ll react,” he speculated.

“That’s not helping,” Rafa responded tightly. 

Roger stopped and stood in place. Since Rafa was holding his hand, he stopped too.

“Look, Rafa… some of the players—they might say… things,” Roger so eloquently began. “Don’t listen to them. Just don’t. They’re the messed up one's, okay? We don’t need them. You don’t need to be worried about them,” he firmly instructed. 

The last thing he wanted was for some close minded, top fifty player to get in Rafa’s head. He just wouldn’t have it. 

Rafa just shook his head.

“These players, they didn’t know before. What if before… we were friends?” He asked dismally. “I don’t want them to say bad things because… maybe we were friends before,” he added softly, staring at the sand. 

Roger gently lifted his head up and made eye contact with the internal battle of Rafa’s mind. 

“Any player who says anything bad—anything at all—doesn’t deserve to be your friend,” Roger stated confidently. 

At that, Rafa smiled sadly.

“You are right, I guess…” he concluded slowly. 

“You probably won’t have to worry about it anyway,” Roger continued. “I can’t imagine there will be too many disapproving looks, right? I mean… we know some of these guys pretty well.”

“They don’t really seem like the kind who would be like that,” Rafa added helpfully.

“Exactly,” Roger agreed. “And even if not, we won’t let it affect our tennis. That is the reason we’re going, after all.” 

Rafa shrugged.

“Is only a 250 tournament, but the practice is good. Especially since… since we haven’t been playing so much tennis lately,” he observed. 

That made Roger halt his train of thought. When *was* the last time he played tennis? Oh. The tour finals. The tour finals that felt like forever ago. So much had happened, that he hadn’t even thought about picking up a tennis racket. 

The more Roger thought about it, the more drastic their situation became.

“Well… *luckily* it’s only a 250 tournament! That’s a good thing. Rafa, we haven’t played in forever. And if we’re not defeated in the locker room, we will most definitely be defeated on the court. Unless we do something about this!” 

Roger’s sensible half had suddenly snapped to attention. Rafa nodded in agreement.

“I never even thought about the tennis, in all the weeks. I know Toni would yell at me if I say this, but it’s true. All we can think about now is reporters and photos.” 

He sighed exhaustedly. 

“It shouldn’t be this way. It should only be about the tennis,” he added grudgingly. 

Roger shook his head. This conversation was becoming all too familiar. Sometimes it felt like they were only walking in circles. Roger had better stop Rafa from dreaming now. They weren’t living in some sort of… fame utopia where the press only did their actual job, and being in a relationship with your rival wasn’t really that big of a deal. 

No, they were living in reality. You didn’t wish that the press weren’t there, you find ways to stay alive against them. When put like this, it was definitely more dramatic, but sometimes that was fitting. Sometimes you just had to except that the situation was dramatic, and move on. Accept, and head to the courts. Which is exactly what they needed to do now. 

Brisbane was approaching quickly. It was only one and a half weeks away. Was that enough time to get back into tennis shape? Hopefully. 

Luckily this tournament was really just a warm up for the Australian Open. That was what Roger was the most worried about. It would be Brisbane, multiplied by a thousand. Or, if he’s being technical—eight. Which he’s not, because a thousand sounds way more appropriate than eight. 

After what had seemed like hours, Roger responded to Rafa’s statement.

“Well… it’s not just about tennis. It was never just about tennis for these people. We play on the court, but also in the media room. These reporters—they come with the job,” Roger observed ruefully. 

“There’s no escaping them. We might as well just learn to live with them, right?” He reasoned. 

Rafa shrugged and still looked slightly skeptical. 

“And the players?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Roger shook his head.

“The other players can go to hell if they decide to give us trouble. We’re going there to beat everyone, so that’s what we’ll do,” he responded confidently. 

“And what if the draw is not in our favor?” Rafa continued.

“We can worry about the draw later,” Roger began. “We need to actually go learn how to use rackets again, remember?” He rolled his eyes playfully. 

Rafa shook his head and laughed. 

“Fine. I guess we’ll see each other in the finals then?” He asked with a bright smile.

“You can count on it,” Roger replied. 

“But first… I’ll see you on the practice courts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a couple days, I just want everyone to pretend that Brisbane is a significant, important part of the top tens’ season. For some reason when I planned this story, Brisbane popped up. Now that it’s here and I can’t get rid of it, some later events probably aren’t going to make sense. It’s a 250 tournament! So... just use your imaginations and pretend it’s a masters 1000? Or at least a 500... 
> 
> Okay I’ll stop rambling about my inability to create a hole-free plot... If you do have any feedback of any kind, a comment or kudo is greatly appreciated! The next chapter will be up tomorrow!


	37. Love All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I’m still on a Swiss Indoors high—this chapter is pretty much all tennis fluff. Who knew writing tennis could be almost as fun as watching and playing it? Yeah, if you couldn’t guess, Rafa and Roger are being pure tennis players in this chapter. I mean, hopefully you know all the terminology? And if not, everyone understands the universal language of fluff, right? Enjoy!

That afternoon, the sun finally decided that this was Spain, and Spain deserved to be warm for a couple hours. The temperature raised drastically, and there wasn’t a cloud in the bright blue sky. Sure, the temperature wasn’t ‘hot’ per say, but it definitely wasn’t chilly anymore. 

Satisfied with the weather, Rafa and Roger headed to the academy, where there would definitely be a court open for them. 

That morning, after Roger and Rafa briefly returned to the Nadal residence, Mirka and the twins had gone with Maribel and Rafa’s mother on a little Mallorcan excursion of their own. 

Rafa and Roger had the day to themselves, and they intended to spend it on the courts. It’s what Uncle Toni would’ve wanted… 

So, with their tennis bags in tow, Rafa and Roger set course for the academy. The training session ahead was drastically needed.

—————————————

A short car ride, a reception desk, and a brisk walk later, Rafa and Roger had arrived at hardcourt nine. 

They tried to be as obsolete as possible—which was kind of hard to do if you were in their current position. Most of the kids were playing on the indoor courts already. Toni had a little something to do with that. 

But there were still a few older teens hitting around leisurely on courts one and two. Rafa could feel their eyes burning through the back of his skull as he and Roger passed. Their aspiration to be as inconspicuous as possible failed, as they stopped hitting and just stared. 

Rafa sped up, and Roger, not oblivious either, followed in suit. For a second, Rafa was worried that the two boys were going to call out to them. But no, they met urgently at the net and whispered to each other. Somehow that was even worse. 

Roger saw this as well, and shook his head.

“Come on,” he urged gently. 

Rafa sighed dismally, and carried on. It seems that now he’ll have to work on gaining the trust of all the children at the academy, as well. He had a big job ahead of him, then. 

But right now he couldn’t worry about the future of his academy. Now, he had to worry solely about tennis, because a tennis player should only have to worry about tennis right? 

Wrong. But there was no time to point this flaw out to any tournament director or head chairman. It was too late for that, anyways. 

A minute later, Rafa and Roger arrived at isolated court nine. The lack of judging teenagers was refreshing, at least. Wordlessly, they each took out their rackets. Fingers were taped and headbands were tied. 

“Shall we play a set?” Roger asked casually, before taking a swig from his water bottle. 

“Okay,” Rafa agreed, “I’ll serve first.” 

After a shared smile of nervous excitement, they took to their opposite ends of the court, and play commenced. 

Rafa’s first serve was choppy. The ball hit the wrong part of the racket and flew off to hit the back fence behind Roger. He raised his finger in mock hesitance. 

“I think I’m gonna call that one out,” he teased. 

Rafa rolled his eyes. The nerves were at full force now. That, what he had just hit, was definitely not a serve. If he expected to win any games with that thing, he was sadly mistaken. 

For the second serve, he hesitantly lifted the ball in the air and made contact with great unsurety. The cowardly effort anticlimactically ran right into the net. Sighing frustratedly, Rafa walked over to the left side of the court. 

“Love, fifteen,” he called out in lackluster optimism. 

Well, he just had to make the next ball go over. How hard could that be? Turns out pretty hard, because his first serve landed neatly in the net. 

Roger stared worriedly at him from the other side, but refrained from saying anything. Rafa was grateful for that. After all, he was always shaky after being away from tennis with an injury. Why should this time be any different? 

A couple service games, and he should be as good as new. Well, except for his knees. Those will never be as good as new. But before he could worry about the longevity of his knees, Rafa had to worry about getting his serve over the net. 

On his second serve, Rafa painstakingly bumped the ball over the net. In landed in to his delight—only to be swung at wildly by Roger who sent the ball onto court eight. 

Rafa turned to look at Roger, who shook his head frustratedly, before heading back to the deuce side of the court. Rafa mirrored him. 

“Fifteen all,” he called out before sending a slow, but steady first serve into the middle of the service box in front of Roger. 

He had no time to celebrate this small victory, however. Roger had found his part-time footing as well, and hit the ball back over rhythmically with a highly exaggerated swing. 

Rafa scrambled to the service line and sent a dramatically loopy backhand to Roger’s end of the court. He returned it in a timely fashion in the form of a bailout lob that Rafa couldn’t get to in time. 

By the end of the point, Rafa was slightly winded, but also slightly happier. There was just something about playing tennis that really put his mind at ease. There was something about it that just swept away all the uncertainty and doubt of the real world. 

In tennis, his job was to deal with all the hypothetical emergencies hurled his way. Somehow it managed to be more peaceful than real life at the moment. 

Tennis was something that Rafa had known for almost all of his life. He couldn’t imagine one without it. He couldn’t imagine a life without Roger, either. 

But Roger was a part of his real life. Roger Federer on the other hand, twenty-time grand slam winner, was a part of tennis. Rafa intended to play him, and play him well. Which he would do starting now.

“Fifteen, thirty.”

Another, slightly faster, first serve went in for Rafa. This time, he was able to direct the ball on the right corner to Roger’s backhand. Roger returned with some newfound confidence of his own. 

The ball landed slightly to the left of Rafa, and the tempting forehand was given into. He sent it flying back with some of the speed harnessed from the tour finals last month. 

Roger sliced the return, which only hit the top of the net before falling back on his own side. Rafa could feel a smile growing in his face. He had missed this more than he thought he would. 

“Thirty all.”

One well placed serve and misplaced backhand later, Rafa held serve. He and Roger switched sides of the court. They both stopped momentarily for a quick changeover.

“You’re playing well,” Roger said with a laugh. 

Rafa smiled.

“You are, too.” 

Roger sighed.

“Not good enough to break your first service game of the month,” he admitted with a teasing grin. 

“I guess I’ll have to try my best and break you now, no?” Rafa added with a small smile.

“Not if I have any say in this, you won’t,” Roger decreed with determination.

“We will see,” Rafa sent a conspiratorial grin his way, as he started walking to the opposite baseline. 

Roger did the same. 

“Zero, one. Love all.” 

Rafa really loved this game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’d I tell ya? Fluff. Tennis. Fluff. Hopefully the next chapter will be more proactive plot-wise? But like I said, I’m on a 99th title high. Maybe in Paris this week I’ll obtain a 100th high? Or maybe a 81st high? 
> 
> Anyways... I hope you all liked this chapter! Comments and kudos are the best! I love seeing the feedback. Chapter 38 will be up tomorrow!


	38. Routine Efforts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! I am so SO sorry I kinda vanished for a second there. I got kinda busy and real life tennis was kinda sad... so I just didn’t have the energy to conjure up a new chapter. But I’ll definitely have more time over these next few days, so no more excuses for me! I hope you all like this chapter, and it makes up for the delay... 
> 
> And hey, one can only hope that the Fed/Djokovic Match tomorrow goes our way? I mean... I can have a little hope right? Regardless, good luck Roger! (You are really, REALLY, gonna need it, I’m afraid.)

The rest of the week went by quickly for Roger. Before he knew it, Christmas dinner was upon them. 

The night had fittingly cold, and there were warm, popping flames brewing in the fireplace. The table that night had been filled to its full capacity. There were so many tempting, foreign dishes in front of Roger that he had never seen before, but she as hell would love to try. 

All the awkwardness that had spawned as a result of the past few days was completely disintegrated. The warm glow from the fireplace, and all the candles framing the scene, basked the dinner guests in a peaceful serenity. Even his kids weren’t bickering with each other like they always were. 

This night was special. Sure, the holiday could be part of it, but Roger didn’t think that mattered too much. 

It was as if… everyone was together now, for one single moment, all the same and all happy. There was just something truly magical about the night. Roger didn’t even want to try and figure it out—to strip it bare and analyze its components. No, he just wanted to enjoy this for what it was, and smile. Peace. 

All of Rafa’s family was there. Even Xisca Perello. And Roger knew all about why she was such an important person to Rafa, and he had no real reason to hate her. In reality, she was probably one of the nicest people Roger’s ever met. 

He had no problem with her, and he hoped she didn’t have any problems with him and Rafa. He didn’t assume so, since she apparently decided to remain with the family. What was it that Rafa had told him once? Oh yes, routine. 

Routine was Rafael Nadal’s pledge to existence. 

Rafa could not function, could not live, could not love—without routine. Xisca was a part of this routine. If she were to disappear… if anyone or anything Rafa loved were to disappear… he would never be the same again. 

That’s… that’s kind of what’s happened to them though, isn’t it? 

The worlds they knew had been turned on their heads. If they hadn’t vanished, they were at least completely distorted and bent towards the edge of existence. Routine was not looking so great for them at the moment. 

But after this past week, Roger had come to a realization. Sure, their lives had become upended and their routines dismantled. The only thing that could be done about this was to just go back on tour and… make new routines. 

Besides, if they’re being honest, their grand slam appearances are numbered by now. Any other sane player would’ve hung up their racket years ago. Rafa and Roger had been defiant in the battle against the clock. Their hard work had always paid off… so this was no excuse to turn back now. 

Were they really going to give up? Now? 

Roger supposed it’d at least make some sense, to pull out of the Australian Open this season. If you’re going to come out on the pro tour, playing a grand slam right away isn’t too obvious of a decision. But neither was playing professionally at the age of 37, but here he was. 

This was doable. And if they really wanted this, if they really wanted routine, there was only one place to start. Australia. 

—————————

Therefore, that next morning, Rafa, Roger, and the obvious entourage, took off for Brisbane, Australia, from a Sergiy-Stakhovsky-free airport. 

Well… they didn’t really take off for Brisbane. They took off for Munich, where they took off for Singapore, where they took off for Brisbane. This fun little adventure took over 25 hours, including more than three hours of layover waiting time. 

Luckily, the kids were pretty used to these brutal means of travel and slept for a majority of the flight(s). Even in first class, the cabins began feeling a little too cramped. 

Roger found himself checking the flight tracker very frequently to look forward to when they’d land. For a majority of the time, he was either sleeping, watching random movies that weren’t exactly riveting, or comforting Rafa, who sat tensely in the seat beside him. 

The ‘buckle your seat belt’ sign turned off hours ago, yet Rafa was still firmly wearing his. The younger man had fallen asleep while reading the safety manual, for what had to be the hundredth time. 

When Roger had noticed, he shook his head softly and set the manual back in the front pocket before yawning. He checked the flight tracker for the fifth time that hour to see if anything’s changed. Nope. Still four and a half hours to go… Roger sighed impatiently, before drifting into an exhausted slumber of his own. 

Hours ago, the kicking from the seat behind him (Myla without a doubt), had ceased. Everyone else around him was asleep. He might as well.

They arrived in Brisbane that next evening. Or… morning. Roger couldn’t really tell. Time zones never failed to mess his sense of time up. All he knew now, was that the sun was up, so that meant it was time to start another day—a little too quickly for his liking. 

After all the suitcases had been stowed away in nearby hotel rooms, Rafa, his team, and Roger, met up with Roger’s team, who had gotten to Brisbane late last night. 

Then it was as if nothing had changed at all. It was a tournament like all the rest, and it was training like it always was. This was Brisbane. Roger *knew* Brisbane. 

The only thing different about this year was that he and Rafa were sharing a hotel room. 

They had been allowed by both their teams to do it this once, at a 250 tournament. Grand slams are a whole different story, and Roger completely understands. He’s just going to have to make the most out of their week together, then. 

But asides from this, Roger could finally pretend that everything was normal. And if he let his thoughts stray to the ‘what-ifs’ that lay ahead? Well… he just wasn’t pretending hard enough. 

This week was going to be the most normal week if Roger had anything to say about it. He and his team talked some, about sponsorships and media, but his hesitancy towards the topic had been picked up around him, and these conversations were muted. 

Roger would much rather hit the ball harder, than hear about another misinformed piece of information that the press had picked up from a questionable source that week. He had really had enough. 

And Roger knew, that going to Brisbane with Rafa was only going to make things worse. But he also knew that this was the only way he could go. This was the only thing he could do. 

Would it be failure if he admitted he was trapped? Yes? Well then no, he is not trapped. This decision was his own, and he was going to turn this decision into a triumph. 

After news that Rafa and Roger weren’t pulling out Brisbane got out, all the journalists that had previously crammed into that media room in London suddenly found time to rush over to Brisbane as urgently as they could. 

That morning, Roger was hitting with Severin Lüthi at a practice court complex near the stadium where the tournament would be held. Somehow, they had found him. 

Roger tried not show any discomfort or annoyance on his face as the journalists took numerous photos of him. He just tried to block them all out. The sounds of the cameras flashing in his ear, he synchronized with the swing of his racket. 

He just hit faster and faster and angrier and angrier until there was nothing left. The hot sun beat down on Roger and Severin as they sat in the shade, drinking water. 

Severin eyed the journalists waiting outside the exit of the court tiredly, before turning back to Roger sadly. 

“Are you ready for this week, Rog?” He asked gently, genuinely. 

Roger sighed thoughtfully.

“I sure hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I apologize for the three day delay. I’ll try not to let it happen again! I do hope that you all liked this chapter at least! Comments and kudos are tremendous motivation and kind of a call to action for me, if you have any feedback. Thanks for reading! The next chapter will (almost certainly) be up tomorrow!


	39. Quarters Aspirations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for my absence yesterday... this chapter was kinda a two day thing. I had to do a little more research for this particular tennis tournament. Hopefully you all like it! There is a special guest appearance by a certain Scottish player... 
> 
> And as for Paris: Roger’s form on Saturday was arguably his best since the beginning of the grass season, maybe even the year, and for once we can say it could’ve gone both ways... of course I was hoping for Roger to pull through, especially considering how close it was, but I’m really glad that Roger put up a really good fight. He surprised me. I was proud. Also good job Karen Khachanov! Thank you for putting an end to Djokovic’s winning streak! That was much appreciated.

Brisbane was scheduled to start on December 30. On December 29, Rafa found himself sitting on a couch next to Roger with their teams, going over the draw. It came out a couple days ago, but they had been so busy with practice, that this was the only time remaining to do this formally. 

Rafa studied the computer screen in front of him with slight concern. All the top Australian players, obviously, were taking part in this tournament. Nick Kyrgios, John Millman, and Alex de Minaur, to name a few. He could also see the names Grigor Dimitrov, Denis Shapovalov, and even Andy Murray, who was probably hoping to rack up a few more desperately needed points before the open. 

Nothing about this 250 tournament was going to be easy. But Rafa and Roger were obviously seeded, and were therefore given a first round bye. In the round of 16, it looked like Rafa would be playing Denis Shapovalov. Hopefully he would be ready for that. 

Roger would be playing Nick Kyrgios. When Roger saw this, he sighed and shook his head. There was a small smile on his face.

“Again, huh?” He added amusedly. 

All their meetings that year had gone in Roger’s favor. There was a chance that this one could too. Roger and Rafa were on opposite ends of the draw. If everything went well, they could see each other in the finals. It would be a statement, for sure. 

They would prove to the world that they could be out together, and still play at the highest level of tennis. This might be a smaller tournament, but Australia was in their sights. They were ready.

The pre match press conferences were another unavoidable toil of the tennis world. Rafa had never particularly liked them, but now he had a reason to dread them even more. 

Even if they stuck to tennis… this still wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation. Rafa needed to have confidence, and all those pressers ever did was make him nervous. 

He could just pay the fee for skipping these otherwise mandatory interviews. But that didn’t really seem fair… or worth it. The money they make playing shouldn’t have to be used against a part of being a tennis player. It didn’t make sense to Rafa. 

So he just attended these press conferences and answered their questions and went out to play. Afterwards, there would be another one. If he had just lost, these pressers were nearly insufferable. If he had just won, they were a little less insufferable, but he still wanted to get home nonetheless. Did Rafa like press conferences? No. Did he grudgingly put up with them anyways? Yes.

That next morning, Roger and Rafa drove to the Queensland Tennis Centre with nervous grins on their faces. They parked quietly in a private lot in the back. The lines of spectators waiting outside in the front were… slightly alarming. 

Reluctantly, they left in two different to their pre match press conferences. The hallways were buzzing with reporters, officials, and players alike. In fact, they didn’t really seem to notice Rafa and Roger. 

Rafa almost laughed to himself at the irony. The reason this building was so busy today, was that he and Roger were here. At times like these, you could draw the lines. But now, they were so busy trying to deal with the multiplying mobs at the entrance, that they completely looked over the fact that the two players causing this mess had entered the building. 

Rafa ducked his head, just in case, as he passed numerous official-looking figures in the halls. Then, he noticed a very determined Andy Murray approaching him. 

Rafa’s body tensed dramatically, as Andy broke into stride next to him. He looked a little nervous, but certainly not as nervous as Rafa felt now. Rafa then stopped in his tracks completely. He couldn’t do this now. He just couldn’t. A press conference was one thing… but actually talking to another player? It was something else entirely. 

Rafa wasn’t ready for a genuine interaction with someone who would actually care. 

Andy turned back to face Rafa hesitantly. He stopped, and walked back to the Spaniard. Rafa knew there was no use in running away. It would just cause a scene… and a scene would cause unwanted attention. 

After a moment of consideration, Rafa pulled Andy into an empty side room and turned the lights on. He then stood back, and stared at the former world number one with a stony expression that gave nothing away. He was terrified, yes, but he wouldn’t show it. 

Andy looked, well, confused. He had just been dragged into a random room spontaneously, so he did have some of the right. You could see the realization of ‘unwanted attention’ dawn on Andy. He took a deep breath and, remembering why he had caused this little chat in the first place, began.

“Look… Rafa, I wanted to talk to you and… see how you… are,” he started hesitantly. 

Rafa, not in the mood to make this easy, remained silent. Andy, losing confidence by the millisecond, continued. 

“It’s just that… I want to say that I… support you guys. And, and that I really hope that you guys are okay.” 

Rafa’s eyes softened slightly. He loosened his arms that had unconsciously crossed earlier. Andy, looking slightly more confident at Rafa’s change of stature, added on encouragingly. 

“Look, nobody’s ever seen anything like this before. Ever. I saw your press conference, you know, the one you and Roger did? You did very well, I think. You guys did well. Really. I just… wanted to tell you that. I wasn’t sure when I’d get the chance to see you again.” 

Rafa smiled wryly at the whole statement and slumped his shoulders tiredly. 

“Quarters, maybe,” he allowed himself to say with a small laugh, thinking back to the draw sheet. 

Andy laughed along with him. 

“Yeah, one can only hope, right? But I don’t know… my form since my surgery has been absolute”-

“You’ll do fine,” Rafa cut him off with an encouraging smile. 

He relaxed completely, for the first time that day. Luckily, Andy Murray was not someone who’d make an awfully big deal out of these things. Well… sometimes he would, but not for the wrong reasons. 

“I am certainly counting on a better form today,” he answered with a shrug. Rafa nodded, thinking back to his own match that he should be preparing for.

“Yes, I play Denis Shapovalov this afternoon. It will be a tough match, for sure.” 

Andy shook his head amusedly.

“You say that everytime you play, you know. But it is Denis, so you might have point this time,” he observed with a grin. 

Rafa shrugged sheepishly. 

“Each opponent is difficult, no? If they play at this level, they will be tough to beat.” He explained with a small smile. Andy scowled playfully.

“You’re insufferable, you know that? You’re too… nice,” he stated in a defeated, yet amused, tone. 

Rafa shook his head and refused to respond. They sat in silence for a moment. Then they both turned alarmedly towards the doorway where an umpire (if Rafa recognized her correctly) had suddenly appeared. 

She stood there, surprised, studying the two tennis players before her. Rafa and Andy stood there like deer caught in headlights. 

Silently, Rafa reflected on how they were lucky this wasn’t a reporter with their camera ready. With a little more luck, they could talk their way out of this room with little to no questions asked. 

Rafa and Andy turned to each other helplessly. Of course someone had to come in this room right now. Of course. But he could find a way to get out of here… surely he could.

“Hello…” he started spectacularly. 

She remained silent, so he continued. Rafa took the silence as a good sign. 

“We were just… discussing the…” he trailed off in uncertainty. 

Rafa was blanking at the wrong moment now. He turned to Andy worriedly. Andy then picked up quickly where Rafa left off. 

“We were… discussing the draw together,” Rafa nodded quickly in encouragement, “and we were just finishing actually, so we’re just going to… excuse me,” he approached her in the doorway and she moved to the side wordlessly. 

Andy motioned for Rafa to follow him. Then the umpire seemed to find her words.

“You came into this room… to discuss the draw?” She asked suspiciously. 

She eyed Rafa and Andy warily. And Rafa noticed that she eyed him a little more, with disdain almost. His eyes hardened and he tensed up again.

“Yes, we did. And now, we are going,” Rafa answered coldly.

He left the room quickly, with Andy at his side. They walked down the hallway towards the media rooms with another word. Then Rafa approached his room slowly. He turned to Andy and smiled warmly.

“This is my room here. I… I’ll see you later, Andy,” Rafa looked gratefully up at him. 

Andy smiled.

“Quarters, right?” He teased lightly.

“Yes, quarters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say I know little to nothing about Andy Murray? I really just... I don’t really know him? So if he feels a little OC—that’s why. I feel like I should know him... but I haven’t seen much of him these past few months, so I had to improvise a little bit for his character. Hopefully for all of those who actually know Andy Murray, I didn’t completely butcher his characterization. Let me know what you think in a comment or a kudo! I love them both! The next chapter will (most likely) be up tomorrow.


	40. Playing to Win

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I am so SO sorry for disappearing for a while! I caught a pretty bad cold that sidelined me for a bit, but I’m better now and hopefully updates will be much more frequent! 
> 
> This chapter is of Roger’s first match in Brisbane, and the events that ensue. I hope you all like it! 
> 
> Here we go again: Good. Luck. Roger.

The morning had all been a blur for Roger. From the moment he got out of bed, to the moment he stepped foot on Brisbane’s Center Court, Roger had been lost in an infinite winding maze of foreign scenarios. 

That morning, he had run into Alex de Minaur and Nick Kyrgios in the hallway. Roger’s initial reaction was stiff, and guarded. It was almost humiliating, to suddenly feel so… almost inferior, to these other players who had looked up to him. 

He had been expecting the worse. But the worse didn’t come. The two Australians had nothing but praise and support for Roger. He was even a little ashamed of how surprised he actually was about this. 

Support was never something he had truly expected from the other players. Maybe it would’ve made sense to have some support, but Roger could never bring himself to really hope. He left Alex and Nick five minutes later with a shy smile and wave, feeling way more prepared and ready for the day. 

The press conference, of course, had been a real test. Luckily, most questions were repeats from the press conference he and Rafa held a month ago. Nonetheless, he breathed a deep sigh of relief when the session was over. 

That morning had been all fuzzy and hazy. He barely remembered a second. All of this changed, when he stepped foot on the Center Court.

The steady rumble from the stands crescendoed into a nearly deafening roar that could almost be felt. There was this crazy, electric energy in the air. It was almost tangible. It was as if the sound waves were going to somehow knock over the umpire’s chair or blow away the net. No, everything remained in place. But it was Roger who felt swept away. 

The distance between him and these crowds was suddenly not wide enough. They were slowly closing in on him now. But the torches and pitchforks Roger had previously envisioned were nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was an overwhelming amount of red… and orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple. It was a rainbow of… oh. It was a rainbow. And that means… and that means they’re all fine. That means that everything will be fine. 

And… and now that his ears adjusted to the noise, he couldn’t really detect an overpowering of boos sweeping the stadium. Maybe if they were there, he didn’t want himself to hear them? Whatever the case, he didn’t hear any. That was another good sign. 

Gathering up the courage, Roger turned to face upward towards the stands and forced a calm and composed smile, before breaking into a more genuine yet shaky one. The crowd smiled back, by cheering even louder. 

Roger then looked forward again at Nick, his opponent for the second round match. He was walking slowly, cautiously, over to his chair. He was almost… shaking. Then Roger understood. This crowd, for such a small tournament, was absolutely gigantic and making their presence known to everyone within a 65 kilometer radius. 

Nick looked almost as lost as Roger did. This would be a tough match for both of them, under these strange circumstances. But it was kind of unfair that they both had to deal with it. The crowds were Roger’s fault, after all. But at least this way they’ll both be even in terms of being totally distracted. 

The noise made this court transform into the infamous Arthur Ashe Stadium. The cheers Roger heard now would probably rival those of a night match in New York. It was pure insanity right now. He could barely hear a man through the speakers announce their presence. 

Suddenly, the moment became all too real for Roger. He was playing a match. Now. After… *everything*. It was almost too much to wrap his head around. But now, it was way too late for second guessing. 

There would be no honor in arriving to play at a tournament filled to the brim to see him and Rafa, only to pull out the moment he reached courtside. He couldn’t do that. It was nearly inhumane. Besides, he came here to play tennis, and that should remain his goal. 

Winning was just an added bonus at this point. Just… to be using a racket again would be reassuring and fulfilling enough. But when all was said and done, Roger wanted a title. And maybe, with a little luck tonight, he’d be one round closer to one. 

After a seemingly endless walk to the set of chairs on the right side of the umpire, Roger slumped down in relief and lowered his bag to the ground gingerly. Then he eagerly reached for a water bottle and surveyed a screen on the opposite end of the court that had Nick’s face, Roger’s face, and a 1-3 head to head displayed. 

Within the next thirty seconds, Roger made his way to the net where he waited with the umpire for Nick. The hesitant Australian approached with an unsure gait, moments later. All this nervousness was so… not-Nick-Kyrgios-like. He was beginning to scare Roger a little bit at this point. 

Nonetheless, this was still Nick Kyrgios and Nick Kyrgios was still going to choose heads or tails. He chose tails. A coin toss later, Nick opted to start on his serve, and Roger obligingly ran to the other end of the court for their warm up. 

He looked up towards his box amongst the crowds. He made eye contact with Mirka, who smiled encouragingly and nodded. Roger nodded back, then turned back to the task at hand. This will certainly be an interesting match.

Ten minutes flew by as Roger and Nick’s rallies grew progressively less hesitant and more aggressive. The umpire called time after their increasingly confident serves were exchanged. At that point, Roger wasn’t thinking real thoughts anymore. From that moment forward, going into the match, his brain worked on complete autopilot. All the forehands and backhands were hit without a second thought. 

An hour later, he broke out of the trance. He had won the first set 6-3 and slowly relaxed into the chaotic tournament’s setting. It was almost like the matches from before. Then, the reality of it all sank in. 

He was winning this match against Nick. After all that has happened, he was still winning this match. And reality shouldn’t have sunk in, because then Roger woke up. 

After the noise from the crowd really got to him, his shots grew more and more desperate, which caused him to miss more and more shots, which made him play cautiously, which is why he lost the second set 6-0. 

Roger shook his head, panting excessively as he made his way to his seat during the changeover between sets. He glanced miserably at the score while swiftly downing nearly a whole bottle of water. 

He looked for Mirka’s eyes in the crowd again. She studied him worriedly. Roger shrugged with a worried expression of his own. This last set… it was something he never wanted to happen again. 

He needed to play with confidence in this deciding set. He needed to play as if he had nothing to lose. And in circumstances like this, that was the only way he could play. When so many pairs of eyes were watching him, judging him, creating opinions based on his every move, this was the only way to play if he wanted any chance of winning. 

In the third set, he had to play to win. It was the only way. Roger nodded decidedly as he made his way to the baseline to kick off this deciding set on his serve. He had to make it through this match. At least, just this one match.

An hour and a half later, Roger Federer dropped his racket in relief and burst into a victorious smile. He had won the third set 7-5, an hour and 37 minutes later. Evidently, the match was his. 

He met Nick at the net and suddenly wasn’t sure what to do in that moment. He hesitantly reached out across the net, since ‘things had to be different now’. 

This moment had been drilled into his mind. He had thought of a moment at the net, any and every moment at the net, and analyzed it to the point of obsession. Now, this was even worse. He certainly didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea or for Nick to feel… ‘uncomfortable’. 

Oh god, how Roger hated having this conversation with himself. It was nearly mortifying. But now he was here, and he had to shake Nick’s hand or… something, he had to do something without crossing through any invisible lasers that lay set up before him. 

But Nick only smiled, not sensing the tension, or at least pretending not to. He leaned in and gave Roger a half-hug, half handshake that made this seem like the most normal, most routine, most ordinary meeting at the net to ever exist.

“Good job today, mate,” Nick congratulated him with a supportive grin. 

Roger smiled back with surprise, relief, and silent gratitude. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

They both knew it was for more than just the match compliment. 

The cameras followed them as they walked down to the umpire chair and shook the man’s hand. Then Roger closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them to face the crowds. 

He hesitantly lifted a hand and waved. The cheers that came back nearly knocked him clean off his feet. Roger almost laughed, and his smile was almost entirely genuine now. He found Mirka in his box again and they smiled warmly at each other. 

Then at that moment he remembered Rafa. Rafa was probably still playing his match right now against Denis. There might even still be time to go… watch him? Maybe. 

They used to watch each other at matches, years and years ago. But now there would be an entirely new meaning. 

Did he dare? Roger considered the question. 

If this were a match, and he played hesitantly, he would lose. This was only a matter of playing to win, and playing without fear. That meant that if he wanted to win this, whatever ‘this’ was, he was going to go watch Rafa. 

But first, he glanced amusedly at a display of reporters with their cameras on the other side of the court, first he had a press conference to attend to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter could somewhat make up for this extensive delay! I will definitely try to gain some sort of schedule again. If things are good, the next chapter will be up tomorrow. Until then, if you have any feedback, a comment and/or kudo is the best!


	41. Photogenic Problematics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sosososososo sorry about the really long wait! It’s been forever since I posted last. This story is still moving along, but I’ve just been really busy these past few weeks. Things are starting to slow down again, so hopefully I’ll regain a schedule of somewhat order? Once again, I’m really sorry. Hopefully this chapter will make up for it? It’s not... exactly happy, but it’s a step in the right direction! ...and then two steps back. But lessons are learned. I hope you all enjoy!

The press conference that Roger attended was short, but not as rocky and awkward as the one before the match. He had one win under his belt, and that fact always lightened his mood. 

Nevertheless, he made sure not to let out exactly what he was doing afterwards to these reporters. If they saw him watching Rafa’s match, they saw him watching Rafa’s match. He just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. It’s not like he could disguise himself and get away with it. Besides, if they want moments like this to become more ordinary for everyone, they’ll have to first act the part. 

He knew that ‘ordinary’ was an impossible wish, but he might as well strive for that sense of normalcy before everything got to their heads.

It was a little odd that the tournament schedule had Rafa and him playing at the same time. Usually, center court was reserved for bigger matches like these. Roger had been given center court, and Rafa was on court one. But in the end, he supposed it made more sense this way. 

The tournament could separate the larger crowds and concentrate them to two separate locations. And they were playing at the same time, so the large crowds could be easily divided. It was just another strategy to adapt to. Roger was fine with this though, as long as he made it in time to Rafa’s match. 

His post match press conference did feel shorter than usual, so there was a pretty good chance he’d make it to court one in time. Roger felt satisfied with the way he conducted himself after the match. There seemed to be less annoying questions than usual. Either that, or he was too distracted by the aspect of going to watch Rafa to notice otherwise. 

It seemed as if even the reporters were starting to get used to things. The questions were tame, and almost meaning well. He had to smile slightly at the mentions of the crowds that morning. He never once expected such enormous support to back him up. 

It was almost like this was only a dream. The only fact that kept him knowing that this was all real, was the marginal pain in his back that had returned. But what else is new? Roger was playing again, and it seemed he wasn’t the only one overjoyed by this fact. 

Roger crept inconspicuously into Rafa’s player’s box. His attempt at discretion seemed to be working so far. No one turned a head in his direction. The sun glasses and baseball cap he was wearing might’ve helped a little bit. But he knew it was only a matter of time before someone spotted him. Roger tried to enjoy these few innocent, incognito moments before chaos ensued. 

The other three occupants of the box turned to him in surprise. Maribel and Rafa’s parents gaped at him in shock. Roger managed an awkward wave and smile as he sat down. 

“Hello… everyone,” he addressed them sheepishly. 

Maribel shook her head slowly. There was a look of disbelief on her face. 

“Please tell me you’re joking,” she started with a bitter laugh. 

Roger shook his head ruefully. Her lack of enthusiasm was starting to rub off on him. But he couldn’t just leave on the spot. He had to stick this out. But it would be a little easier if there was a little less doubt cast upon the situation. 

“You certainly have guts, showing up at Rafael’s match like this… It’s too soon!”  
Maribel reprimanded him in hushed tones. 

Her mother laughed gently. 

“Let him go, Maribel. He has sacrificed enough to earn the right to be here right now.” 

Her words were encouraging and accepting. She smiled at Roger with a new glint in her eye. It closely resembled respect. He smiled back gratefully, and then turned his attention to the match. 

He had arrived just in time for the changeover at 4-3 in the third set. Rafa had won the first set 6-4, and now he was on serve. Denis had held successfully four times, and now it was Rafa’s turn. 

Roger relaxed into his seat. Everything looked routine so far. Everything seemed almost normal. But it definitely felt a little weird, almost wrong, to be sitting in Rafa’s box right now. He knew it wasn’t. He knew this should be something he could just… do. But it wasn’t. Not really. And now, he couldn’t really concentrate on the match because they were watching him. They. Always, ‘they’. 

Roger stared warily at a camera in the media box that was pointed directly at him. To his annoyance, it did not move away. In fact, the more he sat there, the more cameras pointed in his direction. 

It got to the point where Roger wasn’t even sure they had a camera pointed towards the match anymore. He closed his eyes tiredly. This was a mistake. 

He turned to Maribel, who hadn’t noticed the cameras, and was focused solely on the match. Her eyes bounced back and forth with the ball. There was a concentrated frown on her face. Then her eyes closed in relief. She grinned slightly and clapped. Rafa won that point. 

Roger turned to the score. It had been a breakpoint save. Go, Rafa. Roger wasn’t even paying attention. What kind of person, tennis player, boy friend, was he is he couldn’t even pay attention during this one match? Maribel was paying attention. Lucky her. 

Roger had had enough of this. He couldn’t concentrate or enjoy this. All he was doing, was creating a headline for some journalists sitting a few boxes away. He had to get out of here.

Roger tapped Maribel on the shoulder and smiled tightly once she acknowledged him. She stared at him quizzically.

“I’m just going to… get some water,” he whispered apologetically as he swiftly rose. 

Maribel’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Her mother and father turned to him in surprise as well. 

“I have a bottle in my bag, but… you just got here,” Maribel stated confusedly, as she reached for what Roger assumed was the water under her seat. All the while, eyeing him suspiciously.

Roger shook his head quickly and urgently. His eyes never left the cameras. The cameras never left him.

 

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll be back,” he called over his shoulder. 

Roger turned away guiltily and sighed. It had really come down to this, huh? He briefly considered bolting for the exit. But no, he couldn’t bolt. Thanks to the cameras, his exit would be viewed by everyone. 

The eyes weren’t contained to the limits of the stadium now. There were obviously going to be questions about his appearance at the match. He didn’t want questions of his rushed exit from said match on top of that. 

In the end, he opted for a clumsy gait between a jog and skip. That probably just made things worse. He told Maribel he was coming back. He wasn’t really going to come back. 

She was right, in the end. Roger had no choice but to admit it. This was too soon. Would it ever not be too soon? He sure hoped so. 

Sadly, Roger trudged back to the hotel with his head hung low and decided to watch the rest of the match on television. This situation was all too familiar. Every time, Roger found himself watching Rafa from the safety of a hotel room television screen. And he hated that fact. 

He wanted so desperately to be there with Rafa, watching from the sidelines. Roger had hoped, somewhat foolishly, that this exposal might have more bright sides after all. He had hoped that supporting Rafa during his matches, and having Rafa supporting him during his, would become a new normal. 

But that was wishful thinking. If he had been skeptical of the fact, today’s encounter was all he needed to know for sure. He was rushing things. Roger knew everything wouldn’t immediately get better after what had happened, but a part of him had wished that they would. 

But now here he was, clapping monotonously during a challenge along with everyone else in the actual stadium who were probably having a better time than he was. 

Baby steps, he supposed. Maybe he’ll stay a full five minutes next time. But until then, he would get acquainted with that particular hotel’s remote control. Because what else was he supposed to do? 

In a silence punctuated by the occasional, lonely clapping, Rafael Nadal beat Denis Shapovalov, 6-4, 7-5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter ended on a bittersweet note, but I hope this update makes up for my absence. Like I said, this chapter is a one step forward, two steps back kinda thing. It was important that Roger made an appearance in Rafa’s box, but the press quickly took advantage. Nevertheless, the effects of time are starting to wear off on the media. Slowly but surely, the future is looking brighter!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who’s left a kudo or has commented/is commenting on my story. It means so much! The next chapter will be up within the next three days for sure!


	42. A Player’s Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I am really, truly, sorry for the super long delay. I’ve been pretty busy with school and tennis these past two weeks. I just want everyone to know that I WILL finish this story and that I will NEVER EVER abandon it. I promise. I really hope this chapter makes up for the really long wait! It’s Rafa’s POV of Roger’s surprise appearance. Enjoy!

Rafa began a slow trudge to the locker room. His spirits could definitely be higher, even after a solid win against Denis Shapovalov. Rafa’s tennis level certainly wasn’t bad, and in the end it was enough to survive with the match in his possession. But that wasn’t really the problem. 

The problem, was that Roger had been there. Roger had been there, sitting in his box, openingly supporting him. Roger had been sitting down and watching his match… for all of five glorious minutes. 

After five minutes, Rafa’s moment of lightheadedness and glee had evaporated. Why? Because Roger had vanished. 

Rafa tried not to think about Roger’s presence in the first place, when he showed up. Yes, there was evident shock on his face, after spotting the familiar figure in his box, sitting next to his parents and sister. Then a slight smile formed, although Toni would likely scold him for that admission. 

In tennis, he had been lectured countless times that it was important never to show your emotions as you played. A few simple facial expressions or agitated mannerisms could cost you the match. 

But this was different. This was its own category and scenario apart from any other. Roger was watching Rafa’s match for once, and Rafa believed that he had some right to convey his brighter mood. 

His changeover at 3-4 in the second set was when Roger appeared. He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, but the disguise certainly wasn’t about to fool Rafa. 

He watched in curiosity as Maribel turned to Roger and started speaking to him with skepticism and worry on her face. Rafa could only blindly (or, more fittingly, deafly) assume what she was saying to him. But if he had to guess, it was definitely something about how Roger probably shouldn’t be here right now. 

When Rafa really thought about it, although he didn’t want to, this couldn’t have been a very bright idea for the present moment. 

But Rafa really didn’t have time to think about this right now. He had a match to play. And somehow, a match he was playing slowly became a welcome distraction; an excuse. 

Matches really shouldn’t be an excuse from something else. He shouldn’t be using this as an escape, he needed to take the games seriously. He needed to give these shots his undying attention and unwavering passion. 

And if he didn’t? Well, the next round would certainly be out of the picture. 

After that speculation, Rafa tried to block Roger out of his mind as he slowly drank from his water bottles. He had other things to concentrate on right now. He could worry about Roger later. 

Then the umpire called time and Rafa made his way to the baseline to serve. One hold and a few close calls later, he looked up to his box. Roger was nowhere to be found.

Rafa’s face fell immediately, despite his efforts to remain indifferent on the outside. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes strained, searching the area around his box. 

His family was still sitting there, watching him. But Roger was nowhere to be seen. Where could he have gone? Why did he go? What had happened? There were a million questions racing through Rafa’s mind. Which was… well, it wasn’t good. 

Especially since then Denis fired a serve into the corner of Rafa’s box and all he could do was helplessly stare. 

He just couldn’t get distracted now. He couldn’t let anything bother him right now. Even if that ‘anything’ was Roger Federer sitting in his box at an actual match in public with cameras and people and… he had to stop this. Now. 

Rafa shook his head frustratedly, after his return of Denis’ next serve went long. He would just have to shove this aside, and bring it up later. It was better to confront Roger when he saw him next, instead of worrying about it during his match. Rafa needed to concentrate. 

So for the next fifteen minutes, Rafa concentrated. His eventual attention won him the match, 6-4, 7-5. 

Rafa remembered the exact moment when Denis’ backhand went long and a deafening roar rose from the crowds. 

He remembered the elated smile crossing his face, and the relief that washed over his features. He remembered the hesitant walk towards the net, where Denis had smiled warmly and reached out his hand openly for a handshake. 

Rafa returned the favor gratefully, thankful for the routine gesture making an appearance. Then Denis pulled him in, patted him on the back, and nearly yelled, so as to be heard over the crowds. 

“Great match today, Rafa,” the Canadian grinned genuinely as they slowly headed over to the umpire’s chair. 

Rafa nearly stopped in his tracks at the oddly normal exchange. It was almost as if nothing had happened at all. This was all so peculiarly surreal. There was no other way to describe it. Rafa smiled back as widely as he could. 

“Thank you, Denis. So much. You played great today too.”

Rafa found himself on the verge of yelling as well, to be heard over the enthusiastic crowds.

“They’re here for you, you know,” Denis commented fondly, noticing Rafa’s overwhelmed observance of the spectators before them. 

“I could never thought… it would be like this,” Rafa added in bewilderment, shaking his head. 

Denis was about to respond, but the net post wasn’t far away enough, and they had reached the umpire’s chair. With one last smile, Denis went over to his side of the net to pack up his things. Rafa nearly skipped over to his side to do the same. 

The wide grin on his face only widened after facing the crowds one last time before going to the locker room. The wave was hesitant, shy. The reply from the crowd was anything but. He could scarcely believe it. 

Rafa had never imagined that something would happen like this. Ever. After hiding for so long, it was hard to imagine that there even was a possibility as bright and joyous as this one. 

Rafa wondered if Roger had received the same support from the crowds? 

Then he stopped in the middle of the hallway. The smile immediately vanished from his face. 

Oh, Roger. The mention of his name was enough to darken Rafa’s elated mood. It was definitely enough. Rafa needed to talk him. Now. 

Where was Roger exactly? Rafa wasn’t sure. He could’ve gone to his own hotel room. It made more sense that way. They had taken separate hotels for this tournament, like they usually did. It was just another routine. It was just another practical habit. This was a tournament after all. 

They had never actually shared a room. And even now, that things were… different, it would feel almost out of place in a tournament setting. It made more sense to take separate rooms in separate hotels. And it made more sense that Roger would go to his own room after leaving Rafa’s match so suddenly. 

That’s why Rafa eyed his phone with concern after taking it out of his pocket. It had vibrated, and now there was a single message on the screen from Roger: 

“I’m at your hotel room if you want to talk about it.” 

Rafa shook his head incredulously, then sighed. He stared at the text helplessly. They did have to bring this up at some point, and it was better now than the next time a reporter asked them about it. 

...Which would probably be soon, considering that he still had a press conference to attend. Just, great. 

Rafa studied the message again, debating what exactly he should say in return. After ten different drafts, he sent the clipped response: 

“After the press conference.” 

Rafa exhaled nervously, before stuffing the phone in his pocket. He felt it vibrate again, but he had already arrived at the media hall. It was time for another session of: ‘deflecting awkward questions for five to ten minutes’. Rafa could hardly wait. 

And afterwards, he was promised to another confrontational Q&A. As Roger had said, they’d talk about what had happened later. They had their work cut out for them, once again. 

Would they ever get to relax after a match? Would they ever get to see each other and not worry about scrutinizing stares and flashing camera lenses?

Hopefully someday. No, definitely someday. This was just another obstacle in the way of the ultimate goal. Ever since the fateful day at Wimbledon in 2008, they had an ultimate goal. It had been unspoken, unheard of, hopeless. But now things were different. Their love had a fighting chance. Not even reporters could get in the way. 

And even if Rafa was wrong, which he sometimes suspected he was, he wouldn’t let the fact bother him. They were not about to throw away their shot, no matter how marginal the rate of success was. Odds are always an optional piece of information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, really sorry for the sporadically delayed updates. I hope this chapter could somewhat make up for it? Anyways, I promise that I will have the next one up sooner. After finals, I will have more freetime and updates will become more frequent. If you liked this story in any way, shape, or form, please comment and/or kudo because they mean the world to me. Thanks for reading! The next chapter will be up much much sooner!


	43. After-Match Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I am way overdue with a chapter! I deeply apologize, and I feel really bad after I said I would get the chapters put sooner. There were a couple of technical difficulties with my laptop, and then the holidays got in the way, but I was finally able to complete a chapter! I really hope you all like it! It’s a smidge longer than what I usually do, and there’s a lot of dialogue, so I hope that somewhat makes up for the wait!
> 
> Also, while I was gone, lots of amazing and depressing tennis stuff happened. First of all, I am literally counting down the days to laver cup! Second of all, Roger and Serena’s Hopman Cup mixed doubles match was amazing! Third of all, Rafa had to pull out of Brisbane which killed me inside, but also I understand what he needed to do, and I can only hope he’ll be ready for the Australian Open! 
> 
> Okay, enough mindless rambling from my end, enjoy!

After a tediously painful press conference, in which the questions were one hundred percent about Roger watching the match and zero percent about the actual match, Rafa headed towards his room. 

Pressers like these just made him increasingly nervous as the questions dragged on and on. He never knew what to say anymore. If they were so concerned about Roger’s whereabouts, they’d be able to put two and two together and realize that all that had happened at the match had been the fault of their fellow reporters entirely. 

It didn’t take too much brain power. That certainly said something about these people. It took all of Rafa’s might to keep a straight face at these sort of things. The urge to roll his eyes was constant. Luckily, he managed to live to see another day. 

Now that that was over, it was time to talk to Roger.

————————————

Rafa eyed the green light on the door sensor to room 217 nervously, as he swiftly pocketed his keycard and turned the handle. The room that greeted him was cluttered and dark. 

“Hello?” He called out into the seemingly empty space. 

He could hear the air conditioning unit whirring, and the tv was on. Those sounds were the only reply. The blinds were pulled completely over the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the hotel’s courtyard below. The only sources of light came from the softly glowing tv, and a small lamp that sat on the desk in the corner. 

Upon closer examination, Rafa saw that channel nine, which was broadcasting Brisbane, was on. All the matches had been played for the day, and now the results were being reviewed. 

Rafa stopped and watched, despite the fact that he should probably be looking for Roger. He hadn’t come to the door when Rafa entered, or called out. This hotel room wasn't that big… Maybe he had gone out? Where could he be?

Rafa’s attention then snapped back to the tv when he heard his name, followed closely by Roger’s. He eyed the tv warily, before sitting down and turning the volume up. 

Watching this would never be of any use to him. It wasn’t healthy, and it wasn’t helping his cause. But sometimes, curiosity was an unmatchable, relentlessly driving force. He had to give in at some point. 

The guilt slowly crept up on him as the segment continued. He swallowed slowly and stared gravely at the tv as they showed footage of Roger trying to get away from the cameras. It was almost sickening, to see him turn and flee from one cameras view, only to be seen immediately on another. All the while, commentators were speculating and analyzing his every move. 

“Federer should’ve worn his running shoes today, eh?”

“And if we switch over to camera four, we can see him turning down that left hallway there.”

“I guess the disguise wasn’t enough to fool us, now, Roger.”

“Let’s zoom in there, we can see him talking to Nadal’s sister and parents. Can we get some audio over here?”

“The man’s asking for it. And you can see on Nadal’s face that’s he’s noticed. In fact, nobody hasn’t noticed. Could this be a new strategy to distract his opponent?”

“And he’s gone. I wonder where he’s headed. Maybe he’s waiting for Rafa now, at some fancy hotel room to”-

And Rafa turned the tv off. He was holding the remote in a death grip, and it trembled in his crushing grasp. There were angry, blurring tears in the corners of his eyes. 

How… how dare they! How dare they say these things. It just wasn’t right. It couldn’t possibly be right. Rafa gave a long, shuddering sigh, before sinking further down on the couch. This was a disaster.

Rafa remained on the couch, in a daze. He didn’t feel like getting up to look for Roger, so he just waited instead. The silence from the television console was accompanied by the steady whir of the AC unit and the excessively dim lighting. Therefore, unsurprisingly, Rafa was on the verge of sleep. 

He slowly drifted into a rhythmic unconsciousness. Just as he was about to give in to the dark’s strong hold, there was a distinct clicking sound coming from the door. Rafa sat up immediately as he heard the handle turn and the door open soon after. His weary eyes met those of a startled Roger Federer. 

“You’re here…” Rafa started uneasily. 

Roger nodded slowly, and entered the room, closing the door softly behind him. 

“Yeah… I… I came before but, I—you weren’t here so, I went to my room to get some orange juice I had in the fridge,” Roger held up an orange jug to prove that statement. 

“I was… thirsty, and now, here you are,” he ended unsurely.

“Here I am,” Rafa repeated quietly. 

Then there was silence, as they studied each other wordlessly for a single moment, wishing they knew what to say that could make any of this better. Roger turned away first. 

“I’m sorry about what happened, at the match. I shouldn’t have been there. It was stupid of me.” 

Roger set the jug down and turned back to Rafa after his sincere apology. Rafa only shook his head sadly. 

“No, you don’t need to say sorry. It’s just too soon, I guess,” Rafa admitted with a sigh. 

“What’re they saying? On television? I know they’re saying things,” Roger asked hesitantly. 

Rafa shuddered, remembering what he had watched earlier that afternoon. It had been pretty bad. But he couldn’t very well shield Roger from seeing or hearing anything regarding what had happened that day. The news was everywhere. It would be impossible. The silence was a good enough answer for Roger, though. 

“It’s really… that bad, huh?” Roger grimaced. 

Then the curiosity took over. 

“What did they say?” He demanded lightly. 

Rafa shook his head disappointedly.

“Bad things,” was his clipped response. 

“Like?” Roger pressed. After no response, he continued. “You know, I could just go online and find out for myself if”-

“Don’t,” was Rafa’s rushed reply. 

Roger sighed tiredly, but remarkably, a small smile remained on his face. 

“I’m going to find out sooner or later, you know. You don’t need to be so stubborn about it,” Roger assured firmly. 

That seemed to get through to Rafa, and he gave out a reluctant sigh before turning the tv back on. Just as he suspected, they were showing all the wonderful little clips of Roger trying to leave the player’s box again. Well… ‘escape’ is more fitting than ‘leave’ in this situation. 

Rafa turned to Roger with a knowing glance. Hesitantly, Roger went and sat down on the couch with Rafa without another word, as the footage played before them. 

Rafa watched him silently, as the comments from the television grew progressively worse and worse. The look of confidence on Roger’s face quickly diminished along with them. Rafa could only helplessly observe the reactions, not wanting to make anything worse. 

It was two minutes, that felt like eternity, before the commercial break, in which Roger promptly shut off the tv and threw the remote swiftly to the couch next to theirs. It landed with an anticlimactic thud, and the silent aftermath was deafening. Then he sighed, exhaustedly, before slowly turning to Rafa.

“I… I guess it really was that bad,” he admitted defeatedly. 

Rafa only nodded ruefully. 

“Just when things were starting to get better…” Roger mused tiredly. 

With scrappy optimism, Rafa responded. “Things are getting better. They are. This is just the first step. We will keep going forward, no?” He added hopefully. 

Roger shrugged reluctantly.

“I guess you’re right, Rafa,” he smiled softly. “This was never going to be perfect. And… besides, we’re here for tennis aren’t we? To play? We won our matches today. What we really need to be worrying about, are the quarters,” he states matter-of-factly. 

And Rafa has to smile at that, because it was true. They were here for tennis, because no matter how strange and confusing this new world around them was, tennis was still a part of it. 

“You’re playing Richard Gasquet, no?” Rafa asked with a small smile of his own. Roger nodded in affirmative. 

“Should be a good match. The guy’s had a great run. And you’re playing Andy Murray, I think.” Rafa’s smile widened. 

“Yes, I am. It is good to see him back in quarter finals. We both said we might meet in quarters, and now we are. He is a good guy. We talked before, the other day. He said nice things about what we are doing, and… it felt good to have someone else on our side,” he reflected contentedly. 

Roger nodded. Rafa continued in a more hesitant tone. 

“We were seen, though, as we talked. This umpire came in to the room we were in and sees us talking about this, and she was very confused.” He shook his head, relaying the memory in his mind. Roger narrowed his eyes.

“What? What did she do?” He asked curiously. 

Rafa shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

“Nothing, really. She didn’t do anything. We just talked out of the situation, and we left her. She looked suspicious, but there was nothing she could really say against us.” 

Rafa smiled persuasively at Roger, who merely frowned in concern. 

“And this is probably nothing. I just wanted to tell you. We’ll probably never see this lady again,” Rafa added with confident nod. 

This seemed to ease Roger’s concerns, as the frown melted away and a small smile appeared. 

“That is true,” he admitted reluctantly. Then his heavy gaze lightened up. “Alright then, now seeing as we both have matches tomorrow, I believe some rest is in order,” he said authoritatively, much to Rafa’s amusement. 

After the Spaniard didn’t respond, Roger turned to him and rolled his eyes.

“Aren’t you going to kick me out now?” He smirked. 

Rafa laughed lightly.

“You could stay… if you want,” he replied smugly. 

Roger raised his eyebrows and feigned shock. 

“On the night before a match? What would Toni say?” 

Then it was Rafa’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“You are impossible, Rogi,” he quipped, as he grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at Roger half heartedly. “Go now, or I get Toni and ask what he really say.” 

And that has Roger up and out of the door in the blink of an eye, leaving Rafa laughing to himself. Moments later, he gets a text on his phone, from Roger. 

The message read as so: “Don’t tell him, seriously, he’d kill me. Also, good luck at your match tomorrow. See you then.”

Rafa smiled at the message amusedly, before responding. “Maybe someday I tell him and he’ll kill you then. Just not tonight. Or tomorrow. You have an important match. Good luck against Richard.” 

Then Rafa put his phone down and went back to the tv, this time turning on a football match. He was on the wrong side of the world, and the game was only a rerun that he’d seen before. Nonetheless, he sat and watched from the cozy confinement of his room. 

It had been a long day, and he knew that another one just like it would soon be on the horizon. He needed the rest, and he needed the football. Tennis would be tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I am really sorry for the wait! I really hate leaving you all hanging, and I’m going to get the next chapter up as soon as I can. Thank you to everyone who continues to read and support this story! It means everything to me. As always, comments and kudos are totally appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> So, what’d you think? I thought that with all this laver cup not fedalness, we could use some Wimbledon 2008 Final feels. This is a multi chapter fic because I’ve got WAY more planned, if you actually want to stick with this story! Thanks for reading, by the way. If you have any criticism or concerns, feel free to drop a comment! I’m open to all ideas. Likewise if you have something positive to say. It would be tremendous motivation. Okay, I’ll stop rambling now. Thanks for reading!


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